


The Whole "Being Dead" Thing

by Nervously_Spouting_Poetry



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: <-- that should be canon tbh i don't know why there's a debate, ? kind of, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Autistic Hannah Foster, Blood, Child Abuse, Child Death, Childhood Trauma, Demon AU, Drinking, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ethan Green has ADHD, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Ghost!Paul, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, Nightmares, Paulkins - Freeform, Scars, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, buckle up kids this gon be wild, demon!Ethan, ghost!Emma, i feel like i should apologize to them, lexthan, more tags to be added as the story progresses, not yet but i'm putting these here now, past self harm, rated m because there will be some heavy-ish stuff later, referenced self harm, suicidal idealization, technically a beetlejuice inspired au, updates weekly (hopefully)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 170,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nervously_Spouting_Poetry/pseuds/Nervously_Spouting_Poetry
Summary: Paul Matthews and Emma Perkins didn't intend for a lot of things.They didn't intend to fall in love-- it had happened naturally. They didn't intend to move in together into a tiny, trailer house-- it was something that felt right. They didn't intend to confide in each other, to grow together.They also didn't intend to get crushed by a meteor.Not that the universe gave a shit what they intended.Lex Foster intended to do a lot of things.She intended to take herself and her sister far, far away from the hell she called home. She intended to quit working at ToyZone once she had the funds to do so. She intended to curb her drinking habit and quit smoking one day. She intended to live the life she never got to and become an actress in California.She didn't intend to summon a demon.Not that the universe gave a shit what she intended.
Relationships: Alice & Lex Foster, Bill & Paul Matthews, Ethan Green & Emma Perkins, Hannah Foster & Ethan Green, Hannah Foster & Lex Foster, Hannah Foster & Paul Matthews, Hannah Foster & Webby, Lex Foster & Emma Perkins, Lex Foster & Ethan Green, Lex Foster/Ethan Green, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 235
Kudos: 149





	1. did she ever marry old whatshisface?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've finally snapped and decided to write an au that's been on my mind for a LONG while-- so here it is! I haven't got a clue as to how many chapters this'll end up being-- though it seems like it'll be a longer au than other ones, so I'm excited to be able to give it to you! I hope you enjoy it as much as my goblin brain seems to!

For the record, Paul had known he was finished the second he and Emma stepped into the old Starlight Theater. Even before they’d made it to the doors, he’d felt a cold, awful sort of dread settling in his stomach— and the feeling had only worsened the closer they got. He couldn’t explain it. 

It wasn’t like he’d never been to the Starlight before. He’d hated it, sure, but… he’d never gotten a _headache_ just seeing the place. His stomach was twisted in a tight, aching knot, and despite the fact that he was working to keep his breathing even and focus on Emma’s words— something about the play they were going to see— he couldn’t help but feel himself beginning to sweat. His suit jacket probably hid the worst of it, thankfully, but the dampness on his forehead more than told him that he was nervous. About a _play_ , of all things. 

_Is it hot out?_

Glancing down at Emma, taking note of her hat and scarf, he could easily figure out that _no_ , it wasn’t hot out. 

Which meant that he was just sweating like a freak a few paces away from the near antique-looking doors. Perfect. 

“Hey, turn off the waterworks— it’s just a play,” she pointed out, swinging their joint hands at her hip. There was an easy sort of smile on her face, something that Paul had been seeing more and more of since they’d moved in together a few months ago. Nothing fancy, what, between student loans and shitty paychecks, all they’d managed to scrape together was a trailer home— but it was _theirs_. And it came with that smile. Lots of smiles like that one, if he was being honest. 

Smiles he loved seeing. 

Smiles that had more than contributed to the presence of a little box in his back pocket. 

There were the sleepy ones— the ones where her eyes were half-lidded and her hair was falling over her face in a way that made her look more than a little disheveled. There were the ones that fell into the category of a smirk, usually, after she’d kicked his ass at a board game, or when she’d managed to say something just innocent enough that it flew right over his head before she looked at him like _that_ — and those examples went without mentioning the goofy grins, the crooked smiles, the reassuring glances… 

_Focus._

Paul blinked. The one she was sending his way as they neared the entrance definitely fell under the label of reassuring— close to worried. A small weight settled on his shoulders. 

_She wanted to see this._

_Don’t ruin it by being weird._

He squeezed her hand, trying to force his unease away. “I know,” he returned, “I just… I have this _feeling_ about today.” His tone was hesitant in a way, the words coupled with an awkward shift of his weight. “Like… there’s something _wrong_ , and I don’t…” He trailed off, and after a moment, started to fiddle with his tie, loosening it against the feeling of his throat feeling a little too tight before Emma placed her other hand on his. 

“Paul, relax,” she prompted, “the worst that could happen is some kid messing up a line, or a set malfunction or some shit, right?” 

Their walk toward the doors stopped. As much as Paul wanted to keep his eyes on Emma’s, he couldn’t help but glance toward the doors yet again, earning a soft huff of a laugh from her. 

“Hey, I’m down here, you giraffe.”

Paul cracked a small smile at that. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmured, “I’m just—”

“Feeling bad, I get it,” Emma finished for him, her hands already shifting to fix his tie. She made a point of looking him in the eyes somewhat fondly as she smoothed down his suit jacket. “But it’s just a few hours, yeah? And who else was I supposed to drag along to a shitty community production that’ll leave good ol’ Willy Shakes rolling in his grave?” 

That got a real smile out of him. Paul was quick to fit their fingers together again. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “I think calling him ‘Willy Shakes’ is probably already doing it.”

Emma waved her free hand dismissively, “Hey, look, if he doesn’t want a nickname, that’s on him— what’s he gonna do, haunt my ass?” 

Paul shrugged. “Hey, it’d be an honour to be haunted by him.” His tone turned quiet as he made his way into the theater lobby, both out of respect for the other people milling around and because that damn _headache_ was forcing its way back into his head. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. 

_Snap out of it, Paul._

“William was a pretty good writer—”

Emma cut him off with a bump the hip with her own, not bothering to take off her jacket. After all, the Starlight’s heating had gone out a few years ago. “Oh, so you’re on a first-name basis with him?” She teased back.

Paul laughed softly, causing a few heads to turn in his direction. He didn’t care. The only eyes that he really cared about were those belonging to the barista standing next to him, who was currently wearing a mock-offended expression. Continuing, Paul kept his grip on her hand as they began to make their way toward the seats. “Had to find someone who matched my intellect eventually, Em,” 

The next bout of laughter that escaped Emma caused a few of the other playwatchers to shoot glares in their direction, and although that made Paul stifle his laughter with a cough, it didn’t silence her. “Oh, right, so you picked a guy who's been dead for like…” She trailed off momentarily, and as she picked her row and began to walk sideways, avoiding the people already sitting. Paul wove along behind her, awkwardly trying not to bump up against them too much. 

The hand that wasn’t clasped with hers fell to his back pocket. 

The uneasy feeling in his chest intensified— moving past nerves and into something almost nauseating. Did a planned proposal _normally_ feel this sickening? 

“Four hundred-ish years,” he supplied, at the same time Emma made her guess. 

“A million years?”

It took all of his willpower to keep a straight face. “Sure.” Although there was still a headache making his skull throb, he managed to push it away in favour of sitting next to Emma, trying to ignore the smell of dust in the air. 

“Fuck off,” she mumbled to him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “it’s close enough.” 

A hum escaped him in response. As much as he loathed to admit it, this… wasn’t all that bad. The sound of conversations in the air was tuned out easily enough, allowing him to focus on Emma’s warmth next to him and the feeling of her head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers brushed against his own, causing his cheeks to darken a tad.

She snorted. “Better than an ancient old man?”

Humming thoughtfully, Paul pursued his lips and glanced upward, catching a glimpse of the old support beams above them. For a reason he couldn’t quite explain, his stomach knotted. An almost nauseating feeling overtook him, and in an instant, his commitment to the bit completely left him. He shifted his weight. 

_Why?_

_Why tonight?_

It was supposed to be a date. They didn’t get many of those, between both of them working and Emma’s classes. Just some shitty Shakespeare play, then hot drinks and wandering around by the water. A nice way to spend some time together, away from the house. They’d walk, hold hands until the sunlight faded entirely, and then they’d find a nice spot and look at the stars until one of them started to nod off, and if he was _lucky_ , he’d manage to figure out how to pop a certain question before he lost his nerve entirely. 

But instead, here he was, squirming in his seat as Emma pressed harder against his side.

“Still thinking about it? Really?”

“Hey, the ancient old guy _did_ write an incredible amount of plays,” he defended, though he made no move to pull away when she gripped his hand tighter. If anything, he welcomed it. 

It felt like they’d been dating longer than a year.

Something about Emma just… felt _right_. Glancing at her even though she was tucked under his arm, Paul felt a soft warmth upon seeing her curled against his chest. 

The second she caught him looking, she rolled her eyes. “He’s like, _super_ dead.”

Paul raised his eyebrows. “As opposed to being just regular dead?” 

That one earned him a swat to the shoulder and a roll of Emma’s eyes. “Shut it— you’re disrupting the theater!” 

For a reason he couldn’t put his finger on, a chill wound down his spine at that word. _Theater_. Which was _stupid_. He’d been in the Starlight before, and while he’d never truly enjoyed it— watching a play was pushing it, really— something about the atmosphere felt… thick. Almost heavy. Suffocating in a way. Emma was helping, sure, just by being there— but when he smiled back at her, it was a little too tight. 

From the way that Emma looked at him, he knew she noticed. Her fingers lightly squeezed his own. 

“I was just joking,” she murmured up to him, “the only person you’re annoying is _me_. And probably like… the ghost of William Shakespeare.” 

Although his skin felt like it was crawling on his shoulders, Paul did his best to exhale a quiet laugh and settled a little closer to Emma. The armrest dug into his ribs. “Do you really think he’d spend all his time watching productions of his own plays? Seems sorta self-absorbed, if we’re being honest.” 

“Well,” Emma mused, “you _are_ the one who’s with him, so… does that make you a necrophile?”

The absolutely choked noise that wound up from Paul’s throat in response was enough to make more than a few heads turn concernedly in his direction. “ _Emma_ ,” he admonished, earning the sensation of her muffling her laughter against his suit jacket, “that’s not something you can just _say_!” 

She didn’t respond. He could feel her shoulders quivering with the giggles she was trying to force back and tried his hardest not to join her, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. “We’re in _public_ ,” he tried again, only for Emma to give a loud snort and hold tighter to his hand. 

For a moment, silence returned between them, save for the soft sounds of their breathing. The row they’d picked was mostly empty, save for a couple of people Paul vaguely recognized having seen around town. It wasn’t as though there was much happening on a Friday night in Hatchetfield. Those that weren’t at the bar were either asleep, or, in Paul and Emma’s case, sitting in a theater, preparing to watch something that was making Paul’s palms turn sweaty yet again. 

Theater wasn’t something he _hated_ , per-say, but he wasn’t exactly… a fan. Watching people sing and dance wasn’t exactly something he enjoyed— concerts were on thin fucking ice— and reciting lines was pretty near close to something he couldn’t stand, but Emma had insisted it’d be fun. Not to mention, it was cheap entertainment— though something told him they’d be laughing for the wrong reasons. 

It wasn’t like Shakespeare was known for his comedic genius, after all, just as Hatchetfield wasn’t known for birthing acting legends, and even if it _was_ , the odds of an acting legend coming out of some old-timey play were pretty damn low. The only legends being born that night would probably be some legendary screw up on part of the cast or crew. 

Already, Paul could hear what was probably a technical malfunction of some kind, a soft, barely-there hissing. 

He shifted in his seat. Emma moved beside him as well, snuggling a little closer so the fabric of the “don’t make a coffee pun out of this” beanie brushed against his chin. “You hear that?” He questioned softly, at which Emma made a little noise of acknowledgment. 

“Sounds like the gas line,” she mumbled back, “probably nothing. Place has been fucked for years.”

Sweat dripped down his back. Something told him it had nothing to do with the faulty heating system. Unable to stop his brow from furrowing, Paul found the fingers of his left hand beginning to lightly tap on his knee, some nervous tic he’d picked up in high school. “Yeah. Probably.” He couldn’t get himself to sound all that optimistic. 

More people were filtering into the theater, now, settling down in the lower rows as to be closer to the stage and slowly moving up to fill the vacant seats in the higher spots. 

Beside him, Emma snickered softly. “Take a look at those losers,” she whispered, gesturing down at the people sitting down near the front, “imagine wanting to sit that close. Sucks the fun right out of it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly in a silent question, at which Emma flicked his ear. “It _is_ fun— but only if they can’t hear your snide comments—“

“ _My_ snide comments?” He interrupted.

Emma huffed softly. When she rolled her eyes, it was a fond action. “You _totally_ make snide comments.” Snuggling up against his side a little better, she lowered her voice. “Mine are just _funnier_.”

Paul’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Really?” 

When her eyes met his challenging stare, it was more than a little bit obvious that she wasn’t backing down. “Really,” she returned, “and if you disagree with me, we both have to sit here with the knowledge that _you_ —” she jabbed a finger against his chest “—are a fucking _liar_.” 

If Paul had known that was the last smile he’d share with her, he might’ve held onto it a little longer. If he’d known that the uneasy feeling creeping along his body hadn’t been so far off the mark— that he might’ve been able to stop what would’ve happened had he just listened to that voice in the back of his head— he would’ve grabbed her hand and all but sprinted out of the theater, carrying her if he had to.

But Paul didn’t know that.

Opening his mouth to attempt firing back some remark, he was cut short by the hissing sound intensifying in a way that made his heart rate spike. The conversation in the theater stopped abruptly, and as Paul listened, he felt Emma shifting to sit upright. The sound was more of a dull roar— rumbling through the silence, growing louder by the second to a point where Emma’s next words were practically shouted at him. 

“The fuck is—”

It was then that the Starlight Theater’s roof buckled inward with a metallic, horrid screeching that rocked Paul’s world to its core. Shockwaves blasted through the room— the sound causing everything to grow in volume until all Paul could hear was a horrid ringing in his ears, his body being thrown back against the seat against the force. 

The lights went out. 

Dust exploded through the air. Heat blasted across his skin, and although Paul was sure there were screams— screams and the sounds of old supports buckling, of a gas line breaking, of the stage splintering in a mess of wood— he couldn’t hear any of it, his ears still filled with a shrill, angry buzzing. 

Everything was slow. Too slow. 

Slow enough that as Paul tried to process what had happened, he was made almost hyper-aware of how the ceiling was still bending above him— the beams surely making a noise like thunder. A noise he couldn’t hear. The metal was straining, old screws and nails tugging loose from the wood in the wake of whatever had crashed through the roof. 

His body froze. 

_Move._

His breath caught in his throat. 

_You need to move._

His hands trembled. 

_Get out._

His body wouldn’t obey. Struggling to stand, Paul stumbled momentarily under his own weight, his legs bending like rubber, wobbling to and fro as he finally stood up. His fingers dug into the armrest of the nearest theater seat for balance, his whole body leaning to the right heavily. His stomach twisted. The urge to retch was growing stronger by the second, and his headache was only making things worse— his whole skull feeling as though it was about to explode, his mind churning away at a million miles per hour—

_MOVE._

He made it one step forward before something overhead snapped, crashing to the ground at his left with enough force to knock him sideways.

His side connected with an old armrest. A cough worked its way up from his throat. The oxygen seemed too thick to breathe— heavy with dust and debris. One of his hands came up to wave at the dust in front of his face, his voice coming out in a series of mangled, harsh wheezes. Everything was blurry. 

_Where’s…_

There was a name on his lips, though through the smoke that was circling, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t get his mouth to move— hell, he wasn’t even certain he was making _noise_ — and even if he was, he wasn’t certain it would get to—

His eyes widened. 

To _Emma._

No. 

_No._

She was standing beside him, wasn’t she? She had to be. She couldn’t have… no. _No._

Illuminated by the moonlight beginning to filter down through the hole in the ceiling, Paul’s attention snapped to where she was beside him— she _had_ to be beside him— only to find open air. 

She wasn’t beside him. 

In her place was what had knocked Paul sideways— a long, metal support beam, and beneath it—

He couldn’t stand. Any strength he’d had left in him disappeared into thin air, his whole body crumpling, his knees hitting the ground with a dull thud. The rest of him slouched forward, shaking hands finding the ground in front of him and attempting to support him on all fours— though he couldn’t get his elbows to hold up the rest of him. Shaking, he tried to crawl forward, tried to force his body to do anything other than quiver. 

Tried to find his words. 

It had all happened so fast— happened in a blur of sound that was slowly coming back to him and a shockwave that had blasted through the air— and then… nothing. 

“ _Emma_ ?” He croaked, his words barely rising above the sounds of panic in the air around him— panic so heavy he could practically _feel_ it writhing like a living thing, wrapping its cold fingers around his neck and slowly, slowly beginning to squeeze— squeezing to a point where the whole room seemed to blur around the edges. 

“Emma?” he tried again. Louder this time. Loud enough to cut through the sound of buzzing in his head. 

Again, everything slowed— this time so Paul could watch Emma’s arms starting to twitch. When she looked up, her eyes were hazy. Her fingers twitched, and as Paul watched, she tried to wrench herself free from under the beam pinning her legs to the ground.

He didn’t remember moving, but in an instant, his hand was inches from her own. “Emma, breathe,” he heard himself saying in a voice that sounded almost alien, “you’re— you’re going to be okay, we— it’ll be okay, okay?” The words tumbled from his mouth in a rush, spoken in one quick, harsh breath. “Just… just look at me…” 

Emma gave a wheeze of response. Something red dribbled past her lips— splattering on the floor to mingle with—

_No… no…_

—the steadily growing puddle of crimson on the ground beneath her. It seemed to be seeping from the wreckage keeping her trapped in place, crawling across the carpet toward him. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to scream. All he did was choke on his own words of comfort when Emma’s eyes met his own, her face sallow. Pale. 

All he could do was watch as she struggled, her limbs quaking under the effort, soft, short gasps escaping her throat. “Oh… oh _fuck_ ,” she moaned, and had she not been bleeding out, Paul might’ve laughed at how she looked almost perplexed by the stain. Her brow was furrowed, nose wrinkled slightly as she gave a small cough that turned into a full-fledged bout of heaving. 

“Emma, hang on,” Paul pleaded. Unable to stay on all fours, feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut with every hack that Emma let out, he carefully laid down in front of her, offering his hand. 

She took it. 

Her hold was weaker than normal, her palms clammy. 

“I don’t…” she started, hoarsely, “I don’t think I can…” 

“Try.” Shifting closer, Paul scanned her face for an answer— for any reassurance at all, but… there wasn’t any. 

A hoarse laugh pulled from her, though it didn’t sound joyous in the slightest, and it turned to a sharp cough midway through. “It’s… it’s bad, you… you were _right_ about not wanting to go—” as she spoke, she strained harder against the weight of the beam, though she only succeeded in interrupting herself with a yelp. “— _shit_ —”

“Don’t move!” Paul instructed, a gag catching in his throat when the puddle under Emma grew considerably. How much blood could she lose? The scent of it was overwhelmingly thick in the air, and as he clasped desperately at her hand, he pretended not to notice her grip turning slack. “Just hang in there, I… I bet we’ll hear sirens any second now.” 

“Paul, I—” 

The desperate tone in her voice wasn’t lost on him, but he couldn’t just accept it. “Yep, any second!” He tried to affirm, pushing the nausea settling low in his gut aside as he gently ran his thumb across her cheek. “I— I’m sure you’ll be fine, a-and we can go back home, and—”

“ _Paul_.” 

He stopped. 

The eyes looking back at him barely looked like they belonged to Emma. They looked so, so tired. _Exhausted_. When she spoke, her voice wobbled slightly, blood dripping past her lips. “C’mere,” she croaked out, and after a moment’s hesitation, she bit her lip and added: “please?” 

Paul’s heart sank. “Emma…” he breathed past the knot in his throat, forcing his heavy limbs into motion— _did I fall that hard?_ — in order to move closer to her. “We just… we just need to wait for help— it’s coming, it’ll—”

All she had to do to silence him was try to offer him a smile. Her fingers twined with his own. When she spoke, it was soft. Defeated, almost. “We both know they aren’t going to make it in time.” 

“Don’t say that,” Paul responded automatically, ignoring when Emma went to take another breath. “Don’t— I know you’re hurt, but—”

“I’m _dying_ , Paul, what do you want me to—” She broke into a wheeze. Her hand slipped from his, hitting the floor and clawing momentarily at the carpet— the cheery patterning soaked through with a dark crimson. It squished under her palm. Her shoulders shook with the force of her coughing, and as Paul watched, a steady string of blood continued to drip down her chin. 

With a shaking hand, he wiped it away. 

“You were right. Totally shouldn't have… shouldn’t have come… this is _totally_ on me.”

Paul’s world blurred, then. Tears beaded up in his eyes, and try as he might to blink them away, he felt them trickle slowly down his face. He wanted to speak. To reassure her— he could feel his voice rising in his chest, but… nothing. No sound came out. All he could do was mutely watch as she furrowed her brow and struggled to catch her breath. 

“I’m _scared_ , Paul,” she finally admitted in a voice that was nearly lost in the sounds of panic still swimming through the air. “I don’t… I don’t know how you knew, b-but you _did_ , a-and now…” Moving her hand slightly, giving another push to the crimson-stained carpet, Emma gave a shuddering exhale. A little giggle followed it, though it wasn’t something joyous— coming out in a series of low, rasping barks that sounded so unlike the woman he’d fallen so hard for. So unlike the person who’d convinced him to go see some shitty play. 

So unlike the person he’d planned on asking to marry him. 

It was getting hard to breathe for both of them, it seemed. Biting his cheek in an attempt to keep his lower lip from quivering, Paul took her hand again and squeezed it even though it was starting to feel cold. “Emma, you can’t…” He finally managed to say, though, on the word _die_ , his voice gave out entirely, turning to a whimper. 

Emma’s thumb ran across the back of his hand. “Don’t. Please, don’t. It’s just going to make this shit harder.” Her voice was wobbling, heavy with sobs that he could practically _see_ her forcing back, there in the way her jaw was trembling and her breaths were shallow. “Hurts enough as it is.”

Silence fell between them, thick and heavy. It wasn’t even a proper silence— interrupted by the sounds of others who were trapped trying to free themselves—not that Paul heard any of it. All he could hear was Emma’s shallow, laboured breathing, and as he listened, he was made aware of the fact that it was slowing. That her eyes were turning glossy. That her head was starting to lean forward.

“Hey… hey, Paul?” She asked. 

“What?”

“Would you… would you s-sing… sing to me?” 

Paul swallowed hard. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he could feel excuses rising to his lips, though a weak squeeze of Emma’s hand in his own silenced him before he even began. 

“Please?” 

There were jokes he could’ve made. Words he could’ve said that were lighthearted, jokes about his voice, but one look at Emma— small and broken on the ground— stopped him from trying. Instead, he scooted closer, the front of his suit jacket staining a deep, ugly red that matched the puddle that was still seeping out from the metal supports keeping Emma trapped. 

She coughed slightly. It sounded wet. He knew she was waiting for him to sing— his eyes not leaving her own for a second. His ribcage felt too small. His breaths felt too sharp. 

_Sing, goddamnit._

The next couple of noises pulling from him sounded more like that— _noises_ — than a proper song. One he remembered from high school. 

“ _Thought I ran into you down on the street…_ ” 

Emma made a noise that could’ve been a laugh as he continued to sing, detailing the story of a girl called “whatsername” in a song he knew she’d heard before. Although his breaths were short and his tone wobbled, he managed to get all the way through the first verse and chorus before Emma’s fingers began to slip from his own. 

His voice cracked. “ _Seems that she disappeared without a trace…”_

It took him a few seconds to regain his composure, though, with the noise of Emma’s harsh breathing ringing in his ears, it felt like so much longer. His world was still hazy, so with a last good look into her eyes, Paul let his own slip closed and forced himself to continue, the box in his pocket weighing on him heavily. 

“ _Did she ever marry old Whatshisface?_ ”

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to keep from sobbing, Paul continued to hoarsely sing, stumbling over the lyrics in places. It was a simple enough tune, sure, but his volume left a little to be desired as he gently traced circles over the back of her hand. 

He kept singing when she started coughing. 

_“She went away and then I took a different path.”_

When her breathing grew more frantic. 

_“I remember the face, but I can’t recall the name.”_

When it stopped altogether. 

_“Now I wonder how whatsername has been.”_

When her hand slipped from his entirely. 

He didn’t open his eyes. Instead, Paul forced himself to keep singing. His breathing was turning croaky. Had his eyes been open, he would’ve noticed the world turning progressively fuzzier around him. Had he not been so focused on breathing deeply, turning his breaths into song, he might’ve been aware that the air feeling too thick— too heavy— was a little more significant than he’d thought. 

He might’ve thought about the faulty gas line. 

“ _I’ll never turn back time.”_

His head was starting to feel empty. Blissfully so. Numb. Inhaling raggedly in an attempt to finish, his eyes fluttered open momentarily, his gaze fixating on Emma’s open hand— her palm streaked with crimson. 

In a near whisper, he finished, and with an enormous amount of effort, he managed to shift his hand, his fingers brushing up against her own. 

“ _Forgetting you…”_

His eyes fell closed again. 

_“But not the time.”_

It was then that Paul heard the sound of sirens, low and hazy— near underwater— not that it mattered. 

After all, the paramedics would find him without a heartbeat, his hand clasped in Emma’s, with the remnants of a smile on his face. The papers would call it a tragedy. The television would blare news of a memorial. The radio hosts would have a moment of silence for those lost, and the names Paul Matthews and Emma Perkins would be listed with the dead

Not that it mattered to Paul, anyway, because the second blackness consumed his vision, he woke up at home. 

It wasn’t a rude awakening, not like he’d expect after having a nightmare like that one— what the hell else could it have been?— but he still jerked upright momentarily, nearly falling over himself in his haste. His breathing— his _normal breathing,_ not heavy and laboured— turned quick. 

_I’m home._

_I’m okay._

Looking down at himself as he ran his quivering hands through his hair, Paul slung his lanky legs over the edge of the bed and grit his teeth, taking note of the fact that he was… dressed. His brow furrowed. Although he was still sweating— flashes of that horrid dream not leaving him even for a moment— a small seed of confusion sprouted amid his thoughts. 

Had he fallen asleep in them? He must’ve. It was the only real option, but as Paul slowly stood, knees wobbling like jello under his weight, any attempts to recall the day prior just tossed him back into the depths of the nightmare— which couldn’t be right. After all, he’d _died_. 

_Get a grip, Paul._

He couldn’t have died. He was at home, shakily standing, wearing his shoes for whatever reason, and tugging at his hair. He was _fine_. He just couldn’t remember what had happened, that was all. A hand automatically fell to his back pocket, brushing up against the box he’d kept there for god knew how long. It was still there. 

_Which means I chickened out… again._

His hands fell limply to his sides as he inhaled again, glancing down to where Emma should’ve been laying on the bed—

Something inside him pulled taut upon realizing that she was nowhere to be seen. Her side of the bed was painfully vacant, and try as he might to push the images from his head— images of her broken body, of the blood that had pooled around her, of that awful, heavy _acceptance_ in her eyes although the Emma he knew would fight to the very last second— 

_Stop it._

His hands were shaking. He balled them into fists. 

_Breathe._

It was only a dream. He _knew_ that. Emma probably had a morning shift. That was it. She was out at a morning shift and decided not to wake him, or she was bringing her professor his groceries, or maybe she was at a biology lecture. Shaking his head, he forced himself to look around with a little more clarity. It was _fine._ He was _fine_. Emma was out of the house, and he needed to wake the hell up. 

“Okay,” he breathed to the open air, then again, louder: “ _Okay_.”

_It’s okay._

_You’re okay._

_You just need to wake up, that’s all._

Nodding along to the thoughts as though they were being spoken to him, Paul stepped up to the door, exhaled softly, and managed to collect himself before he watched his hand pass through the doorknob. 

At first, he didn’t register what had happened in the slightest— instead, standing stock still. Evidently, he was more tired than he’d thought. 

But then he tried again, a little quicker, and felt a small tingle against his fingers before, again, they moved through the doorknob. The _solid_ doorknob. It wasn’t that he’d missed the knob, it was that the knob had missed _him_. Which was crazy. 

Again, he swiped at the knob. Again, it eluded him. 

_No fucking way._

Resisting the urge to scream, Paul carefully stepped away from the door with his eyes widening by the second, keeping completely silent— like any noise he made would worsen the situation. His body was quivering, and although he couldn’t feel his heart throbbing in his chest like it had the night before— _no it didn’t it was a dream, A DREAM, Paul, snap out of it_ — he was more than certain that it was thundering away in his chest. 

_You’re fine._

His hand had passed through the door. 

_It’s okay._

His fingers had gone right through what was normally a cold metal knob— he’d _seen_ them disappear, only to reappear seconds later beneath the knob, still attached to his hand. 

_Okay._

He felt sick. 

Gasping for air, Paul turned his attention to the bedside table— eyes settling on a half-empty cup of water there. He didn’t think before swinging his hand toward it, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get there— not that it mattered. With wide eyes, Paul watched as his swing connected with the cup— only to continue right on past it. The water didn’t even _ripple_. 

His mouth gaped open. 

All he could think to do was snap it shut, nod, and turn back to the door. The door that he couldn't open. He wanted to cry. 

What had he done _wrong?_

He was a good person— this had to be a dream. That was it. He was still asleep. Just a lucid dream that— _what if it’s not?_

The thought popped up in his mind before he could properly stop it, and by then, it was too late. 

_What if this is happening?_

It was impossible, sure, it made no sense at all— but as Paul looked down at his hands, his shoes, his somewhat rumpled suit jacket, he was suddenly struck by a detail he hadn’t noticed that caused his breath to stop entirely. A small, red stain on his sleeve. Nothing that wouldn’t come out after a trip to the dry cleaner’s. Not a big deal. 

_That’s blood._

Okay, so his dreams— his dreams were connected, then, right? That was… that was fine. That was normal, that— that couldn’t be a problem. That was _fine_ , it was _fine,_ he was dreaming that he’d died—

_But what if it wasn’t a dream?_

Full-on shaking, Paul screwed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around his middle, squeezing until he felt a tightness in his ribs. He didn’t let go. Instead, he held tighter, dipping his head and shuddering against the feeling of his skin prickling and crawling along his back. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, _okay_ —” A shuddering breath interrupted his spiral, causing him to open his eyes and look yet again at the door that stood, taunting him with the fact that he couldn’t do something as simple as grabbing the fucking handle and stepping out into the hallway.

And then it hit him. 

If he couldn’t touch the door, maybe… maybe he could just… 

Squaring his shoulders, Paul locked his jaw and forced his hands down to his sides where they twitched momentarily before stepping forward. 

Stepping forward and _through the door._

It didn’t hurt. The air felt thick momentarily. A chill passed over him— like walking into a department store in the summer— before it dissolved into a prickling feeling, then… nothing at all. 

Leaving him standing in the hall with a cold sweat breaking out across his back and the knowledge that the door was still closed behind him. He didn’t look back at it when he turned to half-walk, half-stumble his way toward the kitchen, picking up speed by the second despite the fact that the hallway was far too short to be jogging down— not that it mattered how fast he was walking around his kitchen, seeing as he _couldn’t touch any of it_. 

_Stop panicking._

He pulled his hands into fists, and after a long moment, pushed them against his sides. 

_You’re just walking into the kitchen._

He could see most of it from where he stood— their shitty table for two being the only thing mostly hidden from view. It wasn’t exactly a kitchen built for people who liked to cook— which was perfect for them, seeing as neither of them could cook worth shit. That wasn’t to say that they hadn’t tried— hell, Emma could almost—

Just the thought of Emma made his fists tighten. 

_Stop that._

_She’s just at class. Or work._

_She’s not—_

When he stepped into the room, his eyes met with a sight that caused an overwhelming, heavy _relief_ to wash over him. The tense feeling that had wracked his frame melted away when he stepped closer, exhaling shakily past the knot in his throat. 

“Emma,” he breathed out. 

The figure in front of him stiffened. When she turned, it was slow. Hesitant. She was still wearing the outfit she had worn in his dream— _it had to have been a dream_ — the beanie he loved to poke fun at tugged over her head, her grey scarf, white… 

Paul froze. 

Blood was speckled across her frame from the waist down, and when his gaze dropped to her waist, a choked noise escaped him before he could even attempt stifling it. 

“Oh… _Emma_.” He couldn’t find any other words. 

Bits and pieces of her skin were torn in places, and although it wasn’t all that _bad_ , if Paul really looked, he could see exposed pieces of bone. Her blood wasn’t dripping. It was staining her skin— decorating the rips in her pants— and around the spots where her muscle was cleanly torn through, it was just… _there_ , thick and dark. 

When he met her eyes again, he was made aware of the fact that her eyes were welling with tears. 

“Paul?” She breathed in return, her voice trembling slightly as she stepped forward— her hip passing through the side of one of their chairs. “P-Paul, oh my god, _Paul—”_

He didn’t hesitate when she finally closed the distance between them in something close to a run, only leaning down to allow her to throw her arms over his shoulders. Her embrace was tight— though he knew his own wasn’t exactly gentle in the slightest. Her chin dug into his shoulder. Her breathing was quick, and as he held her, he closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck. 

He could touch her. 

The thought alone made him squeeze her tighter. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured as she pulled away, though not completely— keeping her hands on his forearms. 

“Paul, what…” Her eyes more than showed her panic— all that confusion and hurt swirling on her face in a way that was painful to watch. “What the fuck _was_ that?” 

Paul winced when her voice turned shrill, though he made no move to interrupt as she dug her nails into his jacket. 

“We— We were out seeing a fucking… some shitty play and then— everything just— it _hurt so much_ —” 

“Emma.” 

“—and I woke up here, and I just— I thought you’d gone out, s-so I didn’t do anything, but then the door, Paul, _I went through the fucking door!_ I… I don’t…” 

Almost naturally, she gravitated toward his open arms, folding against his chest. She was shaking. From the thickness in her voice, it was obvious that she was trying to hold back sobs. From the dampness on his collar, he knew she was doing a poor job of it. 

“What _happened?_ ” She finally croaked. 

Paul swallowed hard. 

His hands felt clammy when he shifted them to clasp her own. 

“Emma…” He started, slowly. “I think…” 

He hated the hope in her eyes. Hated the way that she was looking at him with complete and utter confusion— with _fear_ — written across her face. 

He squeezed her hands tighter. 

“I think we _died_.” 


	2. blah blah (boring) blah blah (tragic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fosters came into their lives about a month after the meteor.

The implications of being dead began to sink in approximately an hour after Emma Perkins died, and as far as she was concerned, they’d never fucking _stop_. 

Pacing— seeing as that was all she could do— Emma raised one hand to tug at her hair and tried her best to focus on continuing her breathing, not that it mattered, seeing as she’d already fucking _died_. In _Hatchetfield._

“Em, you’ve gotta—” 

She spun on a heel. “What, Paul? Get over it?" She hadn’t meant to snap at him. Unable to keep her volume under control, she slammed her hands down at her sides with enough of a noise to make Paul flinch under her gaze— _fuck._ As much as she wanted to apologize, as much as she wanted to force that anger flooding through her away into a corner, she _couldn’t_. 

“N-No!” Paul sputtered in return, shrinking back when she took a step toward him, “But I think if we just look at this calmly—” 

Something in Emma’s jaw pulled taut. Her eyes flashed. It wasn’t fair. _None_ of this was fair. She’d been doing _good_ , for fuck’s sake! She’d had a steady job, a steady boyfriend— she’d been studying _botany_ — not that it even _mattered_ , because— 

“I fucking _died_ , Paul!” She snapped, voice wobbling as though it was about to break. Her pacing turned harsher— she was practically stomping across the ground, dipping through the table without batting an eye. Her arms swung out to her sides in a sweeping gesture, and before she could stop it, a bitter laugh pulled from her. “In _Hatchetfield! Fuck!_ That was my one goal— my _one_ fucking _goal_ was to _not_ die here— and look what happened!” 

She wished she could take it back the second her words left her mouth.

Paul’s face crumpled. His eyes— those fucking _eyes_ — flashed with enough hurt to make her words die on her tongue. 

“I died, too!” He finally pointed out, his voice shaking. 

_Fuck._

“Paul—”

It would’ve been better if he’d gotten angry, but of course, that didn’t happen, because it was _Paul_. He just… didn’t _get_ angry. Their fights had always been minimal, and as much as she hated to admit, she was the one who’d done most of the shouting— Paul had just stood there and taken it. He never raised his voice in return— not often, anyway— 

“And that’s not even it— I had to _watch you die!_ ” 

Emma froze. 

_Shit._

Watching, helpless to do anything but flounder for an apology as Paul glanced away from her and gave a shuddering breath, Emma tried to summon her words. “I d-didn’t… _fuck_ , Paul, I didn’t think about that, I—”

He shrank back when she stepped toward him. His eyes were frightened when they met her own— frightened and _grieving._ “I watched you…” He started again, croakily, body shuddering momentarily as though trying to force the words back, “a-and it was… there was s-so much… so much _blood_ , I…” He swallowed hard. 

Emma felt something inside her pull taut as he began to fiddle with the sleeve of his jacket, his fingers skirting over a dark, reddish stain before stopping there, pinching the fabric tightly. His gaze was unfocused. “And I just… I just _watched_ ,” he finally finished, grip on his sleeve tightening to a point where it looked like his fingers might snap. “I just—”

“Paul.” She interrupted. 

When he looked up, she put her hand on his. “There was nothing you could do.”

She knew it was the wrong thing to say when his face crumpled. Under her hand, his fingers twitched— trembling minutely as his breaths quickened in speed, growing short and sharp. 

_Oh, shit._

She stepped a little closer. “Paul, a-are you—”

“Fine.” He croaked in response. 

She saw right through him. “Don’t lie to me,” she started, though Paul interrupted her— his voice hoarse and heavy. 

“What do you _want_ me to say, Emma?” He snapped in a croaky sort of whimper. “I _died_ , but I didn’t— I didn’t even _try_ to get it off of you, I— I could’ve done something, I could’ve c-called for help, and maybe you—”

Helpless, watching with her own eyes turning teary as Paul cut himself off with a pained moan, Emma held tighter to his hand, trying to stop him before he tore a hole through his suit jacket. “It wouldn’t have done anything— and hey, it’s not your fault, okay?” 

When he inhaled, she put her other hand on his shoulder, stopping his spiral before it began. 

“I’m s-sorry I snapped at you, I… _fuck_ …” Pulling away from Paul momentarily, Emma raised one hand to clutch at her beanie, a bitter laugh rising from her throat. “I don’t know what to _do_ , I didn’t… I don’t understand why we’re _here_!“ Swallowing heavily against the sudden urge to sob— _fuck_ , she shouldn’t have been mourning _herself_ , that sounded so fucking selfish— she turned away from Paul and pulled her hat down a little way on her forehead. “I— I thought I was a good person, I thought— I mean heaven and hell seemed like they’d be a little further down the fucking line— but _this_? I don’t— I don’t get it!” Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and try again. 

“I mean, we had to have fucked up _something_ , I— I don’t think ghosts are normally ghosts because everything was going _right_ — not that everything _was_ going right— I just—” 

_Get a fucking grip._

_Jane would be so disappointed._

Had this happened to Jane? Emma blearily forced herself to look up at the empty kitchen as if her older sister would be there to berate her for dying before doing _anything_ worthwhile— _any fucking thing at all_ — 

_Stop it._

A choked sound wound up from her throat. 

It only took a second for Paul’s arms to wrap around her waist and for his voice to sound in her ear. “Emma…”

She’d never felt smaller. Painfully aware of her lack of heartbeat and the tight, all-encompassing feeling in her chest, Emma bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. It didn’t hurt. She wasn’t surprised. When she spoke, it was shaky. 

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this.” 

“I know.” 

“I was supposed to start a _pot farm_ , not get crushed by… god, what even—”

“A meteor,” Paul supplied. 

Emma couldn’t help but bark out a bitter laugh. “Oh, of fucking _course_.” 

Of all the places for a meteor to hit, of course, it had to come crashing in through the roof of the Starlight Theater— and of course, it had to cripple the support beams just enough so a section of the roof would fall onto her. What were the odds? Probably pretty slim— hell, if she’d only _listened_ when Paul was fidgeting, if she’d only… 

Her hands settled on his as well as she could get them to without shaking. 

“I’m sorry for snapping,” she said again, her tone far more withdrawn than it had been, “it just…”

His arms shifted slightly, though he didn’t pull away. 

“I know.” He murmured, his voice gentle enough to make that worry gnawing away at Emma start to fade into background noise. 

_How does he always manage to do that?_

Every time— every single time she was nervous, it was like he just… knew. Paul was a pretty tactile person, so long as it was just the two of them— and as she breathed in the smell of their still barely-furnished kitchen, she couldn’t help but pretend that things were different. Her eyes fell shut. It would be easy enough to believe a lie, just for a moment. That they’d just gotten back from their date— tired and hand in hand— and were rummaging around in the kitchen together. 

She squeezed his hand. 

He squeezed back. 

“We’ll figure this out.” 

Emma nodded. “Okay.”

And for the next month, that was all they really did. 

On day three, Emma figured out how to levitate— though it took until day four for her to get good at it. It was disorienting as anything, but _totally_ worth it for the look of absolute shock that had crossed Paul’s face when she’d floated through a wall beside him, coupled with the startled squeak that he swore up and down he’d never let out. 

“You totally squeaked!”

“It was a _sound_ , Emma—”

“A _frightened_ sound. Scared of ghosts?” 

On day nine, Paul knocked over a lamp and scared himself so bad he screamed— a real, proper shout that jolted Emma to her core and sent her phasing through the wall to his side. 

On day ten, after hours spent kicking aimlessly at the shards, he managed to move something purposefully, and as much as Emma rolled her eyes at his smugness at doing it _first_ , she couldn’t stop hope from flaring to life in her chest.

“You just need to concentrate,” Paul instructed, holding the glass shard carefully between two fingers, “see?” 

“Yeah, I see it,” Emma grumbled in return, adjusting how she was kneeling to avoid looking at her legs. That was another thing she fucking hated— on top of not being able to clean herself off, not that she got dirty— her legs looked like they’d gone through a fucking paper shredder. And from what she could tell, it was permanent. 

_Don’t think about it._

Furrowing her brow, Emma reached for the mess of what had once been a lightbulb and tried to imagine how it would feel to hold one of the shards. “Just gotta think it into existence, right?” Although she didn’t sound all that enthusiastic, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paul give a reassuring nod. 

“Yeah,” he affirmed, moving to gently set his piece down on the small coffee table he’d knocked it off of, “it should just be a _feeling_. It’s almost like you’re tricking your brain into thinking that you’re still alive.”

_Right._

_Because that makes sense._

Emma bit back the comments in favour of watching her hand pass through the glass once again. _Fucking hell_. A frustrated groan wrenched from her, and as she lifted her hand back up and turned to tell Paul that maybe he could just be the one to move shit around, she was made aware of the fact that there was something on her palm. Something small. Something sharp. 

She’d gotten so excited that she dropped the damn thing— but she barely cared. 

It took her another two days to fully grasp— pun intended— picking things up, and even though she could do it, Paul was certainly better, and she didn’t actually find that she minded it that much. It just meant that he was the one who’d hit the “Skip intro” button once they’d finally gotten Netflix up and running. 

Neither of them tried going outside until day twelve. 

When they’d first moved through the door, Emma had been struck by the fact that everything looked… the exact same. Nothing had changed. The outside of their home still had peeling paint on the door and a couple of dying potted plants that Paul had rescued from the office. The front steps were still nonexistent. 

Not that it mattered. 

Her feet weren’t touching the ground anyway. 

“We’re outside,” she mumbled, at which Paul gave a nod and a soft hum. 

“Looks like it.”

It was almost automatic, letting her hand slip into his as her shoes found the somewhat stiff grass. It didn’t bend under her weight. She knew it was supposed to be cold out— could see it in the fact that the autumn leaves were rustling up in the trees, though she couldn’t feel the breeze. 

Their breath didn’t fog up the air like it used to. She didn’t mind. 

Neither spoke a word, but both of them stepped forward at the same time. 

It was almost like how they used to go walking together— nothing fancy, nothing spoken— just the two of them, hand in hand against the world. The tension coiling in Emma’s chest started to drain, dripping off of her like water with every step they took along the uneven sidewalk. Something about Paul’s steady presence beside her made her feel a little less hopeless. He had a way of doing that. Grounding her. 

“Y’know, I don’t know why we were so worked up about this,” he finally spoke, at which Emma nodded, shifting her grip on his. 

Looking away from the sidewalk to grin up at Paul, Emma bumped her shoulder up against his. “Me nei—”

That was all she managed to get out before a cyclist blindsided her. 

She cried out without thinking, and although Paul said something— Emma barely heard it over the sound of bike tires on pavement. 

It felt like she’d been shoved in the chest. _Hard_. 

Gasping, unable to quite process the sickening, heavy feeling that exploded across her body even after the cyclist pedaled away, blissfully unaware of what they’d caused, Emma felt as though she was sinking into the ground. 

“Emma?” 

She didn’t answer. Her insides were still settling— still churning and twisting— from the sudden blast of warmth— and her head still felt as though it had been hit with a brick. 

Paul had put an arm around her shoulders and walked her home after that. 

They didn’t sleep. They didn’t need to. 

They _also_ didn’t need to eat or drink, which was alright, though it was counterbalanced by the fact that they were invisible— unseen and unheard, as Paul put it. Which was fucking stupid. The days all seemed to bleed together as far as Emma could tell— hell, it felt like she was just falling through each and every one— and with every day, all Emma could hold onto was the fact that at least they were _together_. 

God knew she’d go crazy in her own head.

* * *

If her mother called Hannah crazy one more _fucking_ time, Lex was going to lose it. 

Today had already been bad enough. Between having to tell Frank she was missing a shift at ToyZone, which had _not_ gone over well, and being woken up by her mother telling her to pack a bag, she was having one _hell_ of a day— and to top it all off: it wasn’t even noon yet. Glaring at the clock on the dashboard from where she was sitting in the front seat, Lex tried her best to keep from screaming when she saw the time. 

_Nine-thirty-fucking-five._

_Perfect._

Biting back a frustrated sigh, Lex shifted to cross her legs where she sat and glanced out the window. Hannah was mumbling again in the backseat— nothing too loud, thank god— so it was easy enough to tune out in favour of listening to the steady rumble of the engine. If she only looked out the window, she could pretend that it was just her and Hannah sitting pretty, on their way away from the person currently driving. 

God, was she even _allowed_ to drive? 

_Doesn’t matter._

It wasn’t like Lex hated the idea of going for a drive to the shitty part of town— most of it populated by broke college students or people barely scraping by— but the idea of going there for any reason other than just passing through was enough to make her wince. 

“Remind me again,” she finally asked, turning to glance over at her mother, “ _why_ I had to cancel work today?” 

A pair of tired eyes turned to meet her own with something akin to a glare flickering idly to life across them. “Because I thought we could do this as a _family_ , Alexandra.”

“Right,” Lex mumbled in response. 

Because house hunting in the fucking slums was a perfect way to spend a Wednesday morning. Every teenager’s dream. If she had to pick, as much as she hated to admit it, she’d almost rather be stuck at ToyZone. Yes, she hated the place, but at least she was being tortured and paid for it rather than just being tortured for… whatever reason. Family time, as her mother had put it. 

The best part was that they both knew neither of them would spend much time there. After all, all her mother ever seemed to do was hang around the latest one-night stand or get absolutely smashed at the bar, and Lex couldn’t exactly say that between keeping Hannah entertained and working at ToyZone that she had time to spare. It’d just be another place to tiptoe around in, stay a night in dread, rinse, and repeat. Hell, the only reason they were moving away from the old place was because of her mother’s seeming inability to pay rent despite the fact that Lex had _more_ than given her the funds. 

Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking, Lex put her focus back on the pothole speckled road and the faint noise of the busted radio trying its damndest to play. 

In the seat behind her, Hannah’s mumbling grew a little louder. 

_Shit._

Spinning around as well as she could in the cramped front seat, Lex tried her best to provide a distraction. “Hey, Banana,” she greeted, earning a quick glance in her direction and a huff from her mother that made her eyes twitch momentarily. “Still a bad day back there?”

Hannah, with her knees drawn up to her chest, nodded slightly and shifted her hands to fiddle with the ends of her pigtails. The braids— loose to begin with— were coming apart in her hands. “Not our house,” she supplied in a little voice— her words muffled by the fact that her face was pressed a little into her knees. 

_She’s talking._

Although it didn’t seem like much of a milestone to go off, already, Lex felt some of her own tension decrease. Okay. She could work with that. If Hannah was verbal, that meant that it wasn’t _that_ bad… right?

Although the seatbelt was digging uncomfortably into her neck, Lex managed to put on a look of comfort for Hannah’s sake. “You don’t think so?” She asked, at which Hannah made a soft noise of affirmation. 

“Not ours,” she reiterated. “Still there.”

Lex frowned. “Does… does Webby say that?” 

Another barely-there nod was given as an answer. When Hannah looked up, her gaze was fleeting, eyes trained on the windshield. From the way her face looked almost blank, Lex knew she was barely paying attention to the dingy outside. Her fingers were still tangled in the ends of her braids, and whenever a strand came loose, she’d twirl it vacantly. 

As far as bad days went, this one wasn’t all that terrible as far as Lex could tell. Exhaling, she tried to offer Hannah a smile. “Well hey, I have the rest of today off, so we can go hang out at the park afterward— how about that, huh?” _Yes_ , she’d told Frank she’d try to make it back to close, but for the grateful look Hannah shot her, it was more than worth it. 

Again, her mother huffed. 

Again, her eyelids twitched. 

Again, Hannah’s mumbling started back up. Although it was quiet, she could make out a couple of nonsensical phrases— probably the doing of her imaginary friend. 

“Not our house. Still there. We can stay.”

A chill wound down her spine involuntarily, but before she could even attempt to shush Hannah—

“If I see any of that crazy shit in front of Gary, you’re not gonna like what I do,” her mother snapped, jerking the steering wheel enough to jostle both of the girls when she turned into the driveway of a run-down little trailer home. 

Lex’s hackles raised. 

_Breathe. Hannah needs you to be calm._

_God_ , did she ever want to fucking _snap_. Just because she was a girl, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t gotten into scraps out on the schoolyard, and she was fairly certain she could take down the older woman in a fight— but what good would that do? It’d just get the pair of them put in foster care, and then it could get worse—

A sharp hit to her shoulder snapped her into the present. 

“Goes for you, too, got it?”

She settled for setting her jaw, inhaling deeply, and nodding, rather than throwing that punch she wanted so badly to fling. A familiar customer-service smile fell onto her lips, and as Hannah slid out of the car, she kept her voice as light as she could manage. “Right.”

It took all of the self-control she had to calmly hop out of the car and join Hannah in awkwardly standing out on the driveway, eyes idly drifting across where they could very well be spending the foreseeable future. 

_Christ._

Their old place hadn’t been any better, mind, but this one looked… smaller. Like it was meant for one person, not a family of three— 

“Ah, miss Foster!” 

Lex couldn’t help but snort when the three of them all turned toward the voice— Hannah included, seeing as she’d probably heard that at school, though her smile faded once she recognized the owner of said voice. 

“Gary,” her mother greeted, curtly, “you can show us the place?”

“ _T_ _heir_ place,” Hannah murmured, the correction just soft enough that it went unnoticed by the adults that Lex was dutifully tuning out. 

Her brow furrowed. Slowly stepping closer to Hannah and bending over a little, she rested a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Hey,” she practically whispered, “do you think you can ask Webby what she thinks of the house?” 

Hannah stared up at her momentarily, and when she did, Lex got the feeling that she was being scrutinized closely.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly. 

Hannah cracked a smile. 

_Score._

“She says…” Biting her lip, Hannah brought one hand up to her head and seemed to concentrate before shrugging. “Webby says it’s not ours.” 

“So we’re not moving in?”

Again, Hannah pressed at her head, frowning minutely. “No… we can stay.” She replied, slowly, “just not our house.” 

As she spoke, Lex tried her best to gently herd her toward the door, walking beside her with a hand on her back. “Well, it won’t be for long,” she agreed, “if we can even get the place— watch your step, front step’s missing.” 

Hannah nodded, and as they tailed behind their mother and Gary— his nasally, self-absorbed tone enough to make a muscle in Lex’s jaw go taut— she could feel Hannah’s unease starting to fade. She’d finally let go of her pigtails, and although her focus still seemed a little foggy, she looked like she was taking in at least a few of the details that surrounded them. 

What struck Lex right off the bat was the fact that although it was clean, it wasn’t empty. The design was fairly open. She didn’t bother kicking off her shoes when she stepped in. It smelled lived in— hell, it _looked_ lived in, from the small, two-person table tucked away in the kitchen to the worn sofa across the room. It smelled like coffee grounds. 

As Hannah stepped forward, wandering away from Lex’s hand to go inspect the cracked window letting sunlight stream into the living room, Gary’s voice cut in through her thoughts. 

“We had some uh… problems getting rid of the belongings of the former residents,” he explained when he caught her looking at the countertop, still decked out with a couple of scattered plates, almost like someone had started to clean, but given up halfway through. 

“Oh?” She responded, trying to sound like she cared. 

Gary bought it. Sniffing in a self-important manner and straightening his tie, Lex bit her cheek to hide a smirk when he attempted to stand a little straighter. “Yes, see, we managed to get most of the general clutter, but the crew had some issues removing the uh… larger furniture. I do hope that won’t be a problem for you, Miss Foster.”

Above their heads, the lights buzzed brightly for a moment— loud enough to make Lex look up, squinting against the sudden, harsh glow. 

“And the electrical,” Gary supplied, though his usual calm tone faltered momentarily, “has been a little bit on the uh… on the fritz— that won’t be a problem?”

“Oh, none at all,” her mother’s voice responded from another room— far enough away that Lex felt safe enough to roll her eyes once Gary turned away from her. 

_Just say “dark ages” already, Goldstein._

Gary did not, in fact, say that they had a very high chance of living in the dark ages. “Good, good, so anyway, it’s a small property…”

Like that, Lex was back to tuning him out. His voice was surprisingly easy to ignore— constant enough in a buzzing, dull monotone that it sounded more like a fan a few rooms away than an actual living person, leaving her free to explore at her own pace. 

There wasn’t much to explore. 

Loosely following after Hannah, moving toward the single, plainly-furnished bedroom, she let her hand track along the light blue painted wall at her left. 

It wouldn’t be the worst place they’d stayed at, and although it was tiny… it’d be _theirs_. Not some hotel room, or the house of a one-night stand— not even a place owned by some greedy landlord, no, this house would belong solely to the Fosters. It was almost an idea that sat well with her. Maybe it… wouldn’t be terrible. 

Caught up in her thoughts, Lex barely realized that Hannah had frozen in place until she nearly bumped into her— standing a few feet away from the door in the small bedroom. 

“Hey, what—”

When Hannah spoke, her voice came out in a soft, concerned whimper. “Can you see them?” She asked, and as she did, she seemed to stare a hole through a spot next to the bed. 

A cold chill passed over Lex. 

“What?” 

“ _Them_ ,” Hannah insisted, untangling one hand from her now thoroughly undone right pigtail to point into the room. 

Not at the small bedside table, but at an empty space next to it. 

Lex stepped a little closer. 

_A new set of imaginary friends?_

Hannah hadn’t seemed to have been bored with Webby, but maybe she needed some new playmates? School sure as shit wasn’t doing it for her, and thanks to the rules the thirteen-year-old had surrounding Webby, the spider couldn’t just materialize at her side— she was in space, after all. 

“...no… Hannah, there’s nobody there.” Lex finally settled with, at which Hannah frowned. 

“They say I’m not supposed to see them…”

A moment of silence passed, and as it did, Lex watched as Hannah regarded the blank space before nodding sagely. 

“Or hear them,” she added as an afterthought. 

_Okay._

_Fucking creepy, but okay._

Shouldering her unease, Lex glanced up at the corner for a second longer before moving to stand between it and Hannah. “I don’t think there’s anything there—” 

A cold feeling swept over her. The hair on the back of her neck and along her arms rose, an awful, chilling sensation making her skin feel as though it was crawling along her body and then—

It was gone. 

Her mouth hung open momentarily. 

Hannah cocked her head. “Okay?” She asked, extending a hand to rest on Lex’s arm. 

Lex nodded. It was all she could think to do. “‘Course,” she agreed, “I think the air conditioning’s acting up a little, though.” Rubbing her arms slightly, she gingerly stepped around Hannah and back toward the hallway, though as she made to leave, she heard Hannah ask a question. 

“Why did you touch her?” 

For some reason she couldn’t explain, her insides seized up. Turning, confusion written across her face, she tried not to let her thoughts get too out of hand at the sight of Hannah still gazing attentively at the open air— though she couldn’t help but get a horror movie vibe from it. 

The light in the room flickered softly. 

Less of an intense buzz sounded than the time before. Like clockwork, it faded when the younger Foster sibling nodded. 

“Okay,” she seemed to respond, before turning and scooting her way past Lex to continue exploring like she hadn’t just done… whatever that was. 

_It’s probably to cope with moving._

Sure, Webby had always been there as far as Lex could remember, but it wouldn’t be entirely impossible for Hannah’s already active imagination to conjure up… whatever she’d seen. Kids were weird. Lex knew Hannah was different from others her age, too, so… maybe she wasn’t too old for imaginary friends. 

Moving to follow Hannah, Lex froze up at yet another chill cascading over her body and spun on her heel— if she didn’t know better, she would’ve said that a frozen hand had just brushed over her shoulder— which was absolutely unrealistic. And paranoid. And completely fucking insane. 

_“Why did you touch her?”_ Hannah’s voice rang through her mind. 

Heart racing, Lex’s eyes snapped across the length of the room, and for a moment, she thought she saw something— _two_ somethings. 

A pair of shadows, one short, one tall— though when she blinked, they were gone. 

For a long moment, Lex just stared, heart thudding in her chest and skin prickling, and even when she finally managed to force herself to turn her back and follow after Hannah, she heard the tinny sound of the lightbulb buzzing just a little brighter than it had before. She quickened her step after that as though something was just on her tail. 

Biting down hard on her lip when the crackling of the light faded, she made her way back to the tiny living room, still too deep in her thoughts to pay attention in the slightest to what Gary was rattling on about. She didn’t sit down next to Hannah on the sofa, instead choosing to lean up against the wall and nod along with what she assumed was being said, fiddling with her hoodie strings. 

_Get a fucking grip._

It had to be nerves. Hannah had always done stuff like that— Webby had creeped her out at first, too, but she’d adapted to it— she could adapt to whatever else her little sister had decided to conjure up. Not to mention, her nerves were fried from shitty shifts and work-related stress— and slapping a sudden move on top of that? It’d mess _anybody_ up.

That was all it was. 

Just more stress in her already stressful life, with more typical Hannah stuff on top. Nothing she couldn’t handle. 

Zoning out slightly where she was standing, Lex barely noticed Hannah standing up from where she was perched on the couch until there was a light tugging on the bottom of her sweater. 

“Can we go?” She asked.

Glancing upward at where Gary and her mother were stationed, Lex bit down on her lip. 

_Is it worth interrupting?_

Usually, it wasn’t. Usually, Lex would try to entertain Hannah on her own until they had an opening, though to be fair, she usually didn’t feel so… so fucking _weird_. Out of place, almost. 

_It’s just the empty house._

Coughing, Lex straightened herself out when both her mother’s eyes and those of Gary Goldstein turned in her direction and gestured at Hannah. “I’ll take her outta your hair,” she offered as an explanation, not that Hannah had been in anybody’s hair. 

She was met with narrowed eyes and a dismissive wrist flick. “Go for it.”

She didn’t bother asking when she’d want them back. Instead, she took Hannah by the hand and piloted the two of them out the front door, though as she did, she felt another wave of coldness pass over her. 

Hannah looked over her shoulder and silently gave a wave. 

Lex’s heart rate spiked when the porch light flickered back in response—

_No, not in response, it’s the electrical system having problems. Like Gary said._

“Who’re you waving at?” She asked, at which Hannah shot her a smile. 

“The short lady and the tall guy.”

Nodding, deciding to play along with it, Lex quirked a brow. “Do they live there?”

“Before us.”

“Huh.”

Although there was an uneasy feeling falling over Lex’s shoulders and settling in her stomach like sludge, she forced herself to ignore it in favour of walking. With every step away from the house, the coldness faded, if only minutely— after all, autumn was just about over with winter fast approaching. Lex was fucking dreading it. 

Hatchetfield didn’t get much snow, and when it did, it quickly froze into ice that was treacherous to drive— or even _walk_ on— and that went without mentioning the hell that was ToyZone during December. Just _thinking_ about it was enough to make her shudder.

“Cold?” Hannah asked. 

Lex nodded in affirmation. “Yeah. Wanna grab a hot chocolate?” 

Funds were tight, Lex knew, but in all honesty, she needed to unwind, and from the way Hannah grinned… it wasn’t like she could just say _no_. 

So off they went. It didn’t take long to get to one of the smallish shops— Beanies was open, and loads cheaper than Starbucks, thank god— and the walk to the park was pretty ordinary. 

Sitting on the swings together, sipping on their respective drinks, and trying not to make the old chains squeal, the two lapsed into a comfortable silence. A rarity for the Foster sisters. 

_That’s dark._

Taking a sip of coffee, Lex glanced over to where Hannah sat. “So, verdict on the house?”

Hannah shrugged. “Not bad.” Her fingers tapped lightly on the outside of her paper cup when she spoke, and when she turned her eyes to Lex, she gave a small smile. “And they don’t mind if we stay.”

_Right._

_Them._

Lex exhaled. Her grip on her cup tightened. “You mean Gary and mom?” 

“Them too.”

“Too?”

Watching closely as Hannah sipped at her drink, Lex tried her best to keep her unease from showing— god, she was getting worked up over what? A new imaginary friend at best, and at worst—

_Oh, fuck off._

She’d just snuck into one too many scary movies at too young of an age, that was it, and it was getting to her. Probably remnants of the exorcist or something in her subconscious.

She took another sip of coffee. 

Hannah’s swing creaked. “The two people that used to live there,” she finally answered with a light shrug, though one of her hands came off the paper cup to fiddle with what was left of her braids. “The lady is kind of loud, but the tall man is nice to me, and told me that they weren’t scary. Webby says they’re good.”

“Oh.” It was all she could think to say. “That’s… good, right?”

Hannah’s fingers dug a little further into her pigtail, beginning to pull apart the individual strands. “She says they’re stuck,” she explained, “but they’re good… even if the lady looks a little… scary.”

Lex didn’t bother asking how the lady was scary. She just nodded. 

For whatever reason, the playground felt a little bit colder after that. 

Which was stupid.

Because Lex Foster did _not_ believe in fucking _ghosts_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Lex Foster might believe a little more in ghosts than she thinks...


	3. you can close the casket now

“You know, if I had to pick some people to come into our house, I wouldn’t have picked your uncle Gary and a kid who can see fucking _ghosts_.” 

It had been less than an hour since the Fosters and Gary had left, and already, it felt like it had been years. Paul’s hands felt sweaty when he wrung them together— stress causing his feet to slowly, slowly rise from the floor. “She could see us.”

It wasn’t something that needed to be said— after all, the kid had looked him directly in the eyes— but with every second that passed, Paul could feel that realization settling in his mind with a heavier and heavier weight. “Like, _actually_ see us.” 

From above his head— practically laying down in midair— Emma nodded, giving a slow spin. “She heard us, too— why’d you tell her she wasn’t _supposed_ to see us, anyway?” 

“I blanked!” He sputtered in response. Bringing one hand up to yank on his tie, he felt it loosen a smidge under the force and took a sharp breath in through his nose. “I just don’t understand _how_ she can even see us. Gary didn’t, and neither did the other two…”

He could feel the beginnings of a migraine forming behind his eyes. 

Could ghosts get migraines? 

Judging by the throbbing in his skull, Paul was going to go with _yes_ , which was just perfect. Nevermind the fact that their house was being sold with them still in it— by his uncle _Gary_ , of all people— the fact that it was giving him a headache was what Paul was stuck dealing with as he tried and failed to return his feet to the ground. 

“I think the moody one felt it when you bumped her,” Emma pointed out, “which looked kinda freaky— you just like…” Twisting in the air in a way that was somewhat mesmerizing to watch, she wobbled her hands exaggeratedly at her sides before looking to Paul for affirmation. “Y’know?” 

Paul managed a soft huff of a laugh. “Yeah. I know,” he agreed, mirroring her actions with a bit less enthusiasm before pressing one hand against the side of his head. “It wasn’t like passing through a wall, either— she was _solid_ , a-at least for a second, though I don’t… I don’t really know _why_ —”

“Does it matter?” Emma interrupted, dipping down from the ceiling to hover at eye level with him, “I mean, it’s fucking crazy is what it is— we’ve established that— but who cares _why_ they can see us? They _can_! That’s more than we can say for like, literally anyone else.” 

_And they just so happen to be buying our house._

As much as it didn’t really matter— after all, they _had_ died, so it wasn’t _their_ house, not anymore— Paul felt his chest tighten. They’d barely even lived in the little place. The few things that remained were practically all they had to begin with— just a tiny table, two chairs, a ratty couch, the bed that it had taken Paul a week to ask Emma to share with him without sweating bullets, not that it had seen much action, and a couple of tacky decorations. Not a bad layout or anything, but it… wasn’t a place either of them spent much time. It was more of a common ground than a place they chose to stay— somewhere to nab a quick breakfast and a hasty peck on the cheek. 

_We could’ve made a lot more memories here…_

There were some— like when he’d walked in for the first time with a box in his arms and felt like he’d finally done something worthwhile, or like the day they’d finally managed to get their bed into the right room and Emma had hit him upside the head with a pillow before he’d been able to react, or when they’d sat on the couch and blown through a whole season of some show they’d picked out, staying up well into the morning in a tangle of limbs with a bowl of popcorn forgotten between them— but they seemed small. 

It seemed like there should’ve been more of them. 

Wringing his hands together and biting down on the inside of his cheek, Paul met Emma’s gaze and managed a smile. “That’s true.”

“Fuck yeah it is!” Emma enthused, pumping her fist for emphasis. “She wasn’t even _that_ scared—”

“She froze when she saw your legs,” Paul interrupted, though Emma waved him off with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her wrist. 

“Whatever— to be fair, I do look a little bit fucked— but that’s totally not the point! If she can see us for whatever reason, maybe other people can, too.” Floating above the floor by a good few inches, Emma crossed the kitchen with a glance back over her shoulder at Paul. “I mean, it’s a long shot, but if there’s one, there’s gotta be more, yeah? I mean, I don’t really know how the whole ghost thing works, but…” She trailed off into a sigh, her expression expectant. 

“If they can see us… maybe they can help us?” Paul finished for her, earning himself a wide grin and a nod.

“Yeah, like— fuck, I don’t know _how_ exactly— but if she can see us, she’ll believe in us, a-and then maybe we can…”

This time, when she trailed off, Paul could tell that it wasn’t because she didn’t want to continue. Her brow furrowed minutely, hands still extended in the middle of some gesture as she closed her mouth and bit down on her lip, that hope he’d seen in her eyes starting to fade into the background. 

He moved forward— feet barely touching the ground. 

“Hey,” he prompted, reaching through the counter to touch her arm with a soft, hesitant sort of smile, “we’ll figure that out later.” With his free hand, he carefully reached forward, brushing his palm against her cheek. 

She wasn’t warm. 

She never had been— hell, even before the incident a month ago, he’d always teased her for being cold— but now, her skin just felt like thicker air, not a trace of heat to it. Her hand came up to rest on the back of his own. 

“You’re right,” she agreed, “I’m just— it’s fucking crazy, it’s been a month of nothing, y’know?”

Paul ran his thumb down the side of her cheek. “I know,” he agreed. 

The box in his back pocket felt heavier than ever. 

He’d taken it out a few times— stepped outside and stood in the backyard with the simple gold band between his fingers, and wondered if it was even worth it. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had it long— he’d held onto the ring for close to a month and been damn near giddy with the knowledge that it was there— but every time he’d tried to figure out how to give it to Emma… he’d drawn a blank. 

_“Just go for it,” Bill had told him with a smile, “you two have more going for you than my wife and I ever did.”_

_Paul remembered shrugging. He remembered his features pulling back in a minute wince. “I don’t know, Bill,” he’d mumbled, idly fiddling with his sleeves, “the time never feels right, I don’t—”_

_“Paul, if you keep on pushing it off, you’ll never do it— the time is never gonna be right if you refuse to just give it a shot. What’s the worst that’ll happen?”_

_“She’ll say no, I— I don’t wanna tie her down or anything—”_

_Bill had interrupted him with a laugh. Turning his eyes to the stack of papers on his desk, the other man had shook his head and sigh. “If you really want my advice, Paul, I think you should do it tonight.”_

_“What?”_

_“Tonight. You two are going on a date, right? Once the night’s at the end, get down on one knee— or hell, before it starts—”_

_“Bill, I can’t—”_

_Bill raised his eyebrows. It was an expression that Paul had only seen him wear when he was on the phone with Alice— one of those expressions that spelled out his disbelief, but also clearly showed his reluctance to fight._

_“You can,” Bill responded, “and she’ll say yes, you know she’ll—”_

_“Do you want anything from Beanies?”_

_The topic change was one that made Bill huff out a laugh. “Doing it now, then?”_

_“Caramel frappe?”_

_There had been a moment where Paul had been damn near certain that Bill was about to call him out. To tell him to just go and do it._

_Hell, he might’ve— all he really needed was a good, strong push—_

_“Sounds good, Paul.” Bill had returned with a measured glance._

Paul had forgotten the caramel frappe. 

He hadn’t proposed, either. 

Pushing the memory away as it came, Paul continued to gently run his thumb along Emma’s cheek and offered her a soft smile of reassurance. “We’ve got until they come back to figure out what we’re gonna say.”

“If they even buy the place.”

“They will.” Paul responded automatically with a certainty that surprised even him, though he didn’t redact the statement. 

Emma’s eyebrows crept upward. “That so?”

“Do you really think my uncle Gary goes back on a deal?” 

A laugh sounded from Emma, and with a tilt of her head, she asked a question. “What, so they’re trapped buying this place, ghosts and all?”

“Well, it’s not like they can evict us,” Paul pointed out. 

“No,” Emma agreed, pulling away to drift completely through the counter,  
“they’d need an exorcist for that.” 

Although he knew it was silly, Paul stepped around the counter to join her, and when their hands automatically twined together, a feeling settled over him that he hadn’t felt for the past month. Hope.

“Now we’ve just gotta figure out how to tell a kid that we’re real,” he mumbled, at which Emma nodded. 

“Sounds like it,” she agreed, “and I don’t really think she _doesn’t_ believe in us— I mean, she called us the ‘short lady and the tall guy’, that counts for something... right?” 

Although he didn’t agree, Paul couldn’t help but nod along. There was something about Emma that made her hard to disagree with— some power she held that just _made_ people agree with her, though to be fair, she was usually right. “Yeah.”

“So we’ve got a chance for sure.” 

_At what, Emma?_

He didn’t say it, but from the way Emma sighed softly at his silence, he knew it was there on his face. He’d always been readable— Bill had always been the best at picking apart his little mannerisms— and it seemed that she’d caught on. Drawing up his shoulders slightly when she rested a hand on his arm, he watched her closely as she shook her head and exhaled heavily.

“She can see us,” she told him, squeezing his arm lightly, “so maybe she can like… I dunno, get in contact with Bill— or Charlotte? I mean yeah, it’s a long shot, but… fuck, it’s something, right?” 

Paul nodded again. 

Emma took it as a sign to continue. “And after that… I mean it’s not much, and we’ll need that kid to translate for us—”

“Hannah,” Paul interrupted in a sudden burst of clarity, “th-that’s… that’s what the older one called her.”

“Right, okay, well… maybe Hannah can help us. It’s worth a shot. Either that, or we’re just stuck haunting…” 

A gleam surfaced in Emma’s eyes. One that Paul hadn’t seen on her before— or at least, not one he saw often. It wasn’t one that was usually directed at him— something that usually was reserved for when Zoey and Nora had turned their backs at Beanies, and even then, it was usually fleeting. This look seemed like it was going to stay. 

“We’re stuck _haunting_ them,” she reiterated, slowly, that gleam flickering in her eyes staying present even as she left the floor once again, floating inches from him. “They’ve moved into a _haunted house_.” 

“They don’t know that,” Paul pointed out, though when he did—

_Oh._

His realization must’ve shown on his face, because the second it clicked, Emma broke into a laugh and drifted away from him, her features practically glowing. 

Although her hair was tousled— her bun mostly undone— and her clothes were splattered red, Paul knew that if his heart was still beating, it would’ve skipped a beat when she shot him a wide, challenging grin. 

“So… let’s help them find out. Knock some shit over, make some creepy noises—” As she spoke, she swung her arms out in front of her, excitement laced through the action. “—just classic horror movie fuckery, and then…” 

“They’ll know,” Paul finished for her. 

“Damn right they will,” Emma agreed.

It was easier said than done. 

* * *

Apparently, the universe _really liked_ it when Lex Foster moved boxes, because it felt like that was all she’d done for the past day and a half. Pack a box, move the box, put down the box, _unpack_ said box, rinse, and repeat— and that wasn’t even just at _work_ , no. She _wished_ it was just packing shit around at work. The season right after Halloweeen but before Christmas— affectionately dubbed the hell zone— was always brutal, and left her having to wash her stupid pink vest practically daily, seeing as it would reek of sweat, but moving into a new house on _top_ of being in the hell zone?

There had not been a _single_ fucking _day_ where her arms hadn’t been completely shot— to a point where organizing her belongings and shifting them to her and Hannah’s makeshift bedroom had been a complete nightmare. 

With a box of cheap Halloween costumes in her grasp, Lex half walked, half dragged herself toward the storeroom and bumped the door open with her hip, sighing as she did so.

In all honesty, she just wanted the week to be _over._

Which was probably why it was dragging so damn slowly. 

Blowing her hair out of her eyes as well as she was able, almost automatically, she glanced up at the bright red clock hanging in the back of the storeroom despite knowing that the time it displayed was nowhere near accurate. Last she’d checked, the second hand had been ticking aimlessly away at the bottom of the circle, twitching like some dying animal on its last limbs— and as far as she could see over the top of the box, it was still going strong. 

_Last time I checked, it said what… seven thirty eight?_

Although the glass on the outside face was pretty heavily cracked, with a bit of squinting, she could make out that the hour hand had crept its way up to the eight, which meant that… at least half an hour had gone by. 

A groan caught behind her lips. Fucking _great_. 

Her nails dragged lightly against the cardboard box as she finally managed to hoist it up toward the shelf decorated with the other Halloween junk and wedge it between a couple of shitty tombstone decorations, standing up on tiptoe to reach. Dust floated down from the metal beam— coating her hair and making her scrunch up her face in retaliation. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed through her teeth, making the mistake of inhaling— causing her to pull away from the shelf and cough a few times. Even when she tried to clear the air, fanning a hand in front of her face, she only really managed to cause more grime to fly in her direction. 

Behind her, the storeroom door swung open. 

“You know, Alexandra,” came a voice that made Lex’s hackles raise involuntarily and her face contort into a grimace, “if you didn’t smoke, you wouldn’t have this problem with the dust.”

_Frank._

Fucking hell— didn’t he have somebody else to make miserable? Lex knew the answer to that question already— a hard _no_ — but it still made her eye twitch minutely. “And if we kept this place clean,” she retorted, “I wouldn’t have to deal with choking to death on dust every time I did stocking.” Not bothering to turn around, able to _feel_ his gaze burning twin holes in her back, Lex settled for shrugging. “I’ll pick my battles.”

Still keeping her back to him, pretending to fix up the tombstones she’d knocked a little sideways, Lex ignored the sound of him exhaling heavily— a disappointed, disgruntled thing that she’d heard more than a few times. It was almost entertaining— would he walk away? Or would he try to push some point that she’d already heard from him a billion times over?

“...you’re lucky to be working here.”

_There it is._

Poor, predictable Frank. Shaking her head slightly, Lex forced herself to turn around to look at him— taking note of his crossed arms and fighting stance. She raised her chin in silent defiance. “I thank my stars every day.” 

Although she knew pushing his buttons wasn’t the best choice to be had, she couldn’t resist it. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood— usually after singing some godawful ode to capitalism he was making up on the fly— he was almost entertaining to talk to, though Lex was quickly realizing that today… wasn’t one of those days. Shame, that. 

His nostrils flared. “Fine. Can you do your job and move those boards we have out in the front back here? They don’t exactly scream ‘holiday spirit’.”

The urge to point out that a ouija board _more_ than screamed about spirits was strong enough to make her forcibly bite down on her tongue and give a small nod as a way to duck her head momentarily. “Yeah, I’ll get those,” she promised, at which Frank gave a curt nod.

“And those stuffed spiders, too— off the sales rack and into the back. I _knew_ they were too ugly to sell.”

Again, Lex nodded. 

_The chances of him making sure all of them are accounted for are really fucking low…_

Maybe she could nab one for Hannah— just to match that spider friend she was always talking about, maybe pull her attention away from the two that had come out of the move. At least Webby stayed up in space as far as Lex knew— these two, allegedly, were the reason so much shit had been going haywire during the move. 

_Frank is still standing right there_.

Back in the present, Lex pretended not to notice the fact that Frank had narrowed his eyes behind his glasses as she slipped past him with as peppy a step as she could muster. “Consider it done,” she returned, biting back a snicker at the sound of him giving a huff under his breath. 

After all, he wouldn’t fire her. As much as the two butted heads, Lex had been working there for a solid two years without incident— the longest another teenage employee had managed to last as far as she knew had been a little under a month before he’d been caught bumming cash from the register, which was a rookie move. 

There was _also_ the fact that she was one of the few employees who could work at pretty much any hour, seeing as she didn’t have classes to worry about anymore.

And an added bonus— when she stole, she didn’t get caught.

Sauntering out of the storeroom, though not before grabbing a cart to push, Lex made her way to the front display where the ugly little spiders were positioned and shook her head. “So long,” she mumbled to them, moving to grab what she internally had deemed their leader after seeing the display for a month and a half— a fluffy, purple fucker with piercing green eyes, “and good riddance.”

“I don’t think they’re all that bad,” piped a soft voice from behind her— though despite its volume, Lex still flinched and spun on a heel to face—

_And we’re hugging, now._

Stiffening reflexively as arms wrapped around her, Lex moved to pull away almost reflexively, though when she did, the person gave a more than familiar laugh. 

“Geez, just ‘cause I was over in Clivesdale— am I really a stranger to you?” 

_Oh!_

In an instant, Lex returned the halfway embrace— although she wasn’t normally much of a tactile person, there were two major exceptions. Hannah, _obviously_ , and Alice. “Shit, Allie,” she greeted as she pulled away, “s’been awhile!” 

_More_ than awhile, from what Lex could remember. Between Alice’s girlfriend and Lex’s mother and shitty hours, Lex swore up and down she hadn’t seen _any_ sign of Alice for the last month and a half— and just out of the blue, here she was. 

She looked more tired than she had when they’d last seen each other— though her smile was a good mask, Lex saw through it. It reached her eyes, but… not entirely. Not quite. 

“Yeah, I know,” she returned, though it lacked her usual energy. One of her hands rose, fiddling with her red, neatly brushed hair. “Don’t get used to seeing me here though.” She added as an afterthought. 

Lex’s brows raised slightly as she tossed another spider into the buggy. “Oh?” 

“I mean, it’s technically my mom’s weekend to have me— I’m here for the day,” she explained. Out of her peripheral vision, Lex watched her move her hand— now tugging lightly on the bottom of her pink sweater. 

“Well, I’d invite you over, but it’s a shitshow— moving in has been a fucking _nightmare_ ,” Lex grumbled, “Hannah’s doing okay with it, but shit keeps going wrong, so…” With an apologetic roll of her shoulders, Lex stood on her toes— reaching a little further into the display to grab another poorly sewn spider. “What’re you back in this shithole for, anyway?” 

From the way she saw Alice flinch— a minute action at most— Lex knew right away she shouldn’t have said anything. 

“Funeral.”

“Shit…”

“Yeah, it’s… a lot,” Alice admitted, her voice shaking a little. 

Lex pretended not to notice when she used the sleeve of her sweater to dab at her face, instead, turning her attention to the boards propped up by a plastic jack-o-lantern. “Fuckin’ sounds like it,” she agreed, earning herself a wet laugh. “Jesus, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Alice responded, and this time, the quiver in her voice was painfully obvious, “It’s not my dad’s fault, either— I mean hey— it’s nobody’s fault that he didn’t make it out in time.”

Lex’s hand closed around a few boards. “At the risk of sounding blunt—” she pulled the boards away from the display “—who died?”

As she dumped them into the cart, Alice sniffled. 

“See, that’s the thing,” she admitted, “I didn’t… I don’t really remember him all that well… he was my dad’s best friend, and he used to babysit me when I was younger— Paul. Paul Matthews.” When she said his name, she looked away— turning her attention to the cart full of spiders as Lex dumped the boards on top of them with a satisfying, dull noise. “It’s stupid that I’m so torn up about it, I just—”

“Uh, it’s fucking _not_ ,” Lex interrupted, leaning a little harder on the shelf, “so jot that shit down. He _was_ in your life, and I’m sorry he’s not anymore. That’s shitty.” 

“It _shouldn’t_ be as shitty as it is.” As she spoke, Alice scuffed her heel hard against the linoleum— leaving a dark streak of mud across the floor. 

_Oh, Frank’s gonna make me clean that._

Pushing the thought down, she gave an understanding nod as Alice sniffled and continued.

“I think the worst part is seeing my dad,” she admitted, sleeve pressed against her nose, “he’s just… _god_ , it’s messing him up.”

Dumping another board into the cart, Lex glanced behind her momentarily— _Frank’s not here_ — before ditching the display window and stepping closer to Alice with concern written across her face. “That’s shitty, Allie,” she mumbled, at a loss as to how to comfort the other girl. Comforting words weren’t exactly her strong suit— and try as she might to find some, all she could manage was a sigh. “Like, _really_ shitty.”

“That’s not even the shittiest part,” Alice responded, the use of the curse word enough to make a red flag fly in Lex’s head. 

Alice _never_ swore. 

Which meant that this was _really_ fucking her up. 

“That bad?” Lex asked, hesitating momentarily before bringing her hand up to rest on Alice’s arm and earning a shaky nod. 

“Yeah, it… _god_ , it’s… it’s bad, Lexie,” she admitted, “and the worst part is, he’s blaming himself for the whole thing.” Bringing her gaze up to meet Lex’s, Alice bit down on her lip and tugged a little harder on the sleeve of her sweater. “ _Apparently_ , Paul was going to propose that night. My dad was rooting for him, told him about the thing at the Starlight, and then…”

She trailed off, leaving Lex to furrow her brow and grip her arm a little tighter. “That doesn’t make it his fault— how the _fuck_ could it be? That was the meteor crash, right?”

It had been some freak accident with a low body count as far as Lex knew— just a few casualties, but for Hatchetfield… it was a lot. The most they’d ever had was a murder last year— and even that was ignored by the public for the most part— but a meteor strike? 

_And of fucking course, it took out this Paul guy._

The odds were astronomical— one in a million for sure— but as Lex watched Alice sniffle and try to hide her tears, the fact that it had really happened made itself present. 

“Y-Yeah, that… that’d be it— out of all the nights for a meteor, right? It just _had_ to be then.” A bitter laugh followed Alice’s words. “Do you wanna know the worst part?”

Lex winced. 

“Shoot.”

“It got his girlfriend, too.”

“ _Shit_.”

Alice nodded, the action uncertain as she pulled away from Lex, once again, wiping her eyes— leaving a thin smudge of mascara on the side of her face. “They found them together, I… h-he wasn’t even pinned down or anything. Dad says it was the gas line that finished him, it… looks like he just didn’t leave her, a-and—”

The second she broke into a sob, Lex felt her chest tighten. 

“Allie—” 

“I’m sorry, I sh-should go,” stepping back, Alice glanced toward the door, already turning in that direction, “y-you’re gonna get in trouble—”

In one smooth motion, Lex grabbed onto her sleeve. “Hey, no, don’t apologize,” she started, “that fucking _sucks_ , Al, I’m sorry you’ve gotta deal with all of that.”

Again, Alice laughed— not at all like the warm sound Lex remembered from when they used to find time to hang out together— a wet, harsh noise, coupled with a sniffle. When her eyes met with Lex’s, they were more than a little bit watery. “It’s just _shitty_ ,” she reiterated, putting more emphasis on the swear, scuffing her shoes a little harder, “Paul was a good guy. I was totally rooting for him— Emma, Emma Perkins, that was his girlfriend— they were just… I mean, from what I can remember, they seemed happy…” 

Releasing her sleeve, Lex gave a tight-lipped smile— one of those ones that she usually flashed when she had _no_ fucking idea what to say. “I’m sure they were, I… Jesus, that’s awful.”

“Y-Yeah. I’m just… I mean, he was just my _babysitter,_ but I think the hardest part is seeing what it’s doing to my dad, it… it’s _hard_.”

Lex only nodded in response. It was all she could think to do. Carefully, she rested a hand on Alice’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Fuckin’ sounds like it. Where is he now?” 

“Grabbing a coffee,” Alice supplied, “I should probably go make sure he’s okay, it… he was trying not to cry earlier, but he’s _really_ fucked up. That’s why we’re here and not at Beanies— she used to work there.” 

_I probably knew her…_

The thought made a chill crawl across Lex’s skin. Brushing it aside, she awkwardly patted Alice’s shoulder. “Okay, but if I let you go, you’ve gotta promise to call me if shit goes sideways, ‘kay?” 

Although it was a small action, it was totally worth it to see a soft, wobbly smile flicker to life on Alice’s lips.

“‘Kay,” she echoed, still smiling faintly even as Lex pulled away. 

“And we’re gonna pull out all the fuckin’ stops next time you’re here on a full visit,” she added, “do everything Hatchetfield has to offer. Take us like, ten extra minutes.” 

That pulled a laugh from her— _fuck yeah—_ a real, shaky laugh that was high and hesitant. It didn’t last long, but in that moment, it was easy enough for Lex to pretend that things were going to be just fine. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Alice agreed, sniffing heavily one more time before offering Lex a smile and pointing off over her shoulder. “It… thanks, Lexie. It was nice seeing you.”

Lex raised a hand in a lazy wave. “Yeah, good to see you, too. Anything to stave off slapping these suckers in the back.” She finished the sentence by kicking one of the buggy’s already fucked wheels for emphasis, relishing momentarily in the sharp clang that echoed through the silence of the store. 

For a moment, silence fell between them. Not uncomfortably, but in a way that left Lex more than a little aware of the fact that above all, Alice looked tired. 

“Now go get some coffee injected into your veins,” Lex finally prompted, flicking her wrist in a gentle shooing motion, “you look like a zombie.”

Another weak giggle sounded from Alice. “Says you, hypocrite,” she called over her shoulder. 

Rolling her eyes, Lex flipped her off as she stepped out of the store— Alice blowing a raspberry in return before the door shut behind her with a soft jingle. 

Lex watched her go through the cracked window with a soft smile. As much as it wasn’t a great circumstance that had brought her back to Hatchetfield, it was good to see her again. Way better than seeing—

“ _Alexandra_ ,” came Frank’s voice, “I can’t help but notice that those _boards_ are _not_ in the storeroom.”

Lex’s features soured into a scowl damn near instantly. “Getting there, Frank,” she called back in return, turning on her heel to start wheeling the cart back toward the storeroom, not in much of a rush. Next to nobody came into ToyZone to begin with, and for the rest of the day, next to nobody did. Time went by in a thick fog. 

At least Hannah was happy to receive a purple, green-eyed spider— and as Lex had predicted, a certain imaginary friend was its namesake. 

She pretended not to notice the lights flickering when she collapsed into bed that night. 

She _also_ pretended not to notice that the lights went off when she tugged her blankets over herself despite the fact that she hadn’t done so much as look at the lightswitch. 

_Just the fuses. Like Gary said._

It seemed that she was writing a lot of shit off. The cold spots? Faulty air conditioning. The windows sometimes slamming shut on their own? Old latches. Fabric rustling in the night? Just the wind.

And that went without mentioning how she’d find boxes tipped over when she _swore_ up and down that she’d set on the edge of her bed— or how she’d been carrying one and felt a hard, heavy _shove_ against her back that had made her drop it with a crash. It went without mentioning the sounds of footsteps she swore she heard in the early hours of the morning despite her mother being off god-knows-where and Hannah being fast asleep in bed. 

It _definitely_ went without mentioning the dark shadows she sometimes saw flickering in her peripheral vision. 

Rolling over, burying her face in her pillow, Lex tried her best not to pay attention to the cold feeling that suddenly ghosted over her back. Tried not to pay attention to the feeling of her bedsheets rustling. 

_Don’t think about it._

_It’s fine._

_This is fine._

_It’s just the AC acting up._

_Like last time._

One of her eyes opened— settling on Hannah’s shape on the tiny cot across from hers, her arms wrapped firmly around the little stuffed spider— before her vision focused on the darkness at the end of her bed. 

_Nothing._

_Get a grip, Foster._

It took her another hour to fall asleep, and even when she did, she couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, I love Alice and you can pry their friendship from my cold, dead hands.


	4. i've lost my mind (for real)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I'm NOT the proudest of how this one turned out-- but I have a writing goal so I'm POSTING it!

From the second that Lex had entered the kitchen, Hannah had known her older sister was having a bad day. It was written all over her body language— the way her usual, sluggish morning gait was closer to a stomp, the way her shoulders were slumped— not to mention, her hair seemed messier than normal, and the heavy, harsh bags under her eyes looked as though they were getting worse.

“Morning, Lexi,” Hannah chirped from where she sat. 

Lex didn’t look her way. Her attention was focused on swinging open the barely-stocked cupboard and fishing out a package of stale pop tarts. “It sure is,” she grumbled.

From across the room, the sound of Emma’s voice made Hannah look up in time to see her drifting in through the wall. It was a common enough sight, oddly enough. “Oh, somebody’s having a shitty morning,” she commented to nobody in particular, though her gaze did meet Hannah’s momentarily.

Hannah looked away. “Bad sleep?” She asked Lex, at which her older sister gave a nod.

“Yeah, and Frank has me on the opening shift today— in about twenty minutes.” As she spoke, her hand passed through Emma momentarily, dragging the toaster across the counter. 

If she noticed, she didn’t outwardly show it. 

_Still can’t see them._

As much as Hannah knew the odds of Lex noticing the two were slim to nil, she swore she’d come close. Like when Paul would bump her accidentally and she’d freeze in place, or when Emma would knock something over and she’d stare at it like it had just insulted her directly— there had been times where she’d looked _right at them_ , as far as Hannah had been able to tell, but she’d blink, and then—

“I’m assuming you slept, huh?”

Lex’s question brought her out of her thoughts. With a nod, Hannah swung one of her legs under the table, bumping it up against one of its rickety legs. “Slept okay,” she agreed, though, with a concerned glance, Hannah cocked her head. “You didn’t?” 

“Does it look like it?”

“No.” She responded, at which Lex nodded. 

“Well, there you go.”

From where she hovered, about six inches above the ground, Emma snorted. 

Hannah tilted her head. “Why?” Despite the fact that she was fairly certain she knew the answer— said answer hovering smugly a few feet to her left, she couldn’t help but ask. 

Lex’s shoulders stiffened. 

Although it wasn’t all that noticeable, her face paled. 

“I think there’s a vent over my bed or something— cold air all night long, like I wasn’t even under a blanket,” she finally responded after a long silence spent dumping the shitty breakfast in the toaster. “Gary may be an idiot, but he was right— AC is _totally_ fucked.”

Emma gave a low huff under her breath. “ _That’s_ what you’re going with?” 

Above Hannah, the light flickered— buzzing like a trapped hornet. A cold chill washed over her shoulders. 

“Em, lay off,” came a voice from behind her. 

Hannah didn’t bother turning around. After all, with their mother out of the house— and also more than stuck _not_ walking through walls— there was only one person it really could’ve been. 

_Paul._

She’d only learned their names the day prior, but in all honesty, they weren’t very hard to remember. They fit, in a weird way that she couldn’t quite explain— like she’d _known_ what Paul was going to say when he’d taken the liberty of introducing them, kneeling in front of her and slouching more than normal as though he was trying to look smaller. 

_“I don’t think we’ve properly met, but I’m Paul. That’s Emma.”_

_Emma had jutted out her chin in response, and after a pause, shot off a couple of finger guns in Hannah’s direction. “Yeah, sorry we’re still here,” she added, floating closer to hover behind Paul, “I mean, it’s not like we got a choice or anything, but—”_

_“I know.” Hannah had responded._

She _had_ known. 

After all, Webby had made it clearer than anything that the pair of them were stuck— trapped “between”, as the spider had put it, and from what Hannah could tell, that was right. After all, they were never really… present. They were _there_ , sure, but it wasn’t like they could do much. Walls didn’t do anything in terms of hindering them, and although she’d seen them moving things around, it didn’t always happen— they mostly just went right through. 

Not to mention, they weren’t solid.

As Hannah turned her attention to Paul, she had to take a minute to focus, making sure she was looking _at_ him and not _through_ him as he walked across the kitchen floor, not that it really mattered, seeing as his feet were still floating above it. 

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about.” 

The lights flickered again, harshly enough to make Hannah flinch. 

“We should get that looked at,” Lex mumbled, causing Hannah’s attention to turn to her as she swung herself up to sit on the counter. 

“Wouldn’t help,” Hannah responded. “They keep doing it.” 

_“Paul_ keeps doing it,” Emma corrected. 

“I’m not _trying_ to, Emma. You make it sound like I’m doing this on purpose.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

The bulb fizzled a little more harshly. Paul sighed. 

“Not on purpose,” Hannah amended, glancing at Paul for approval, which was given in a small, soft nod and a hesitant sort of smile. She smiled back, though she didn’t hold eye-contact for very long before looking back to Lex, who nodded, albeit, stiffly. 

“They…” She trailed off, moving one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “These are the two new ones, right? Not Webby.”

“Not Webby,” she agreed, and after a slight pause, she added: “Paul and Emma.” 

The noise that escaped Lex was somewhere between a choke and a wheeze. 

Alarm flickered to life on Hannah’s face. In an instant, she sat up straighter, furrowing her brow in concern, watching as Lex opened and closed her mouth a few times, her eyes that had been mostly closed now wide open and focused on her. 

Hannah barely heard Paul and Emma’s conversation— 

“Did we know her?”

“She doesn’t seem familiar, I don’t think… but she’s Alice’s age, maybe—”

“Could _they_ know each other?” 

—too focused on the fact that Lex looked about ready to melt into the countertop. Although Hannah wouldn’t say she was the best at reading people, from the way her older sister’s nails were digging into her jeans and her voice still seemed to be trapped in her throat, it was obvious that something was wrong. 

When she finally did speak, her voice wobbled— though from the way it was slow, it was clear she was trying to hide it. 

“Hannah… have you…” She paused. Her fingers twitched. 

Hannah shifted in her seat. “...what?” She asked, timidly. 

A tight feeling of unease was coiling around her ribs, though she couldn’t exactly say why. There was a tension in the air— something thick and crushing— that made it hard for her to focus. Her leg swung a little faster under the table. 

“Have you noticed anything… I dunno, _weird_?” 

“Weird?” Hannah parroted. That tight feeling around her ribs intensified, twisting slightly— only worsening when she saw Paul and Emma exchange a glance she couldn’t read. They were harder to pin down— Emma especially— in terms of how they felt, and when Paul wordlessly drifted to Emma’s side and put a hand on her shoulder, Hannah carefully picked up her trusty, stuffed spider from the table and held it against her chest. 

_What’s wrong, Webby?_

A headache buzzed in the back of her mind, causing her to lift a hand to her forehead. 

**_Let her talk,_ ** came Webby’s voice— low and soothing. Her grip on the plushie loosened **_. She’ll explain._ **

Breathing deeply to try staving off the feeling, she jittered her leg and listened as Lex tried to find her words. 

“I… I dunno, like… shit moving on its own?” Lex finally settled with, gesturing vaguely— once again, swiping her hand through Emma’s torso. “Like my boxes— last night, they kept getting knocked over— I _swear_ I stacked them properly, or—”

Although Hannah was trying to pay attention to Lex, she couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering over to where Emma was floating, hip halfway through the countertop. She wasn’t even _doing_ anything, though when Hannah caught her eye, there was a gleam there. 

One of Emma’s eyebrows raised, and before Hannah could even try to ask what she was going to do— with a quick, practiced flick of her wrist, Emma swatted a plastic plate off the countertop. 

Lex’s words— examples of other things that had allegedly happened— turned to a startled yelp. “ _Fuck_ — see, like that! Shit like that— it just— by itself— you saw that! It fell on its own—”

“It didn’t fall on its own,” Hannah corrected, looking from Emma to Lex with a slightly confused look flitting across her features, “Emma pushed it over.”

Yes, she knew Lex couldn’t see them— but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. From where he stood, Paul shot Emma a warning look. 

“What?”

“You kept her up all night.”

“So?”

“Let her wake up before you—”

“I thought we were trying to get her to _believe_ in ghosts.”

A chill wound down Hannah’s spine.

_Ghosts._

She had known that was what they were— it was the only thing that really made sense, and Webby had agreed— but it still didn’t sit quite right with her to know that they were living in a haunted house, no matter how nice the ghosts were. 

Well. 

No matter how nice _Paul_ was. 

Emma still scared her a little. Webby said she was nice and all, but she was _loud_ , and harder to predict than Paul was— not to mention, she would always do things to Lex that set her on edge. 

Lex’s hands pulled to fists on the counter. Her whole body looked tense— like it did sometimes when their mom came home slurring her words with a bottle clasped firmly in one hand— and although her eyes weren’t flashing with panic like they usually did when that happened, Hannah knew right away that she wasn’t comfortable. 

“Emma… and Paul, that— that’s what you said?” 

Again, Hannah nodded. Her grip on Webby changed— turning to lightly fiddle with the short, purple fur. “They lived here before. Webby says so.” 

Watching Lex’s face closely as her older sister looked down to the plush spider, then back to her, Hannah tried her best to read the older Foster’s expression. Her eyes were _definitely_ wide open now— locked with Hannah’s in a way that made the younger girl tighten her grip on the plush spider.

“Before—”

**_Cover your ears._ **

_What—_

The toaster popped. 

Lex _shrieked_. 

The sound caused Hannah to flinch away— clapping her hands over her ears a second too late as Lex jumped off the counter, spinning to face the toaster as though it had just bitten her. 

When she laughed, the noise was too high. Strained in a way that made Hannah’s knee jittering get a little more intense. The hand that wasn’t clutching the purple spider twined with the end of her pigtails

“ _Jesus_ ,” Lex hissed through her teeth, running her fingers through her hair, “sorry, Hannah, I just…” She gestured broadly. One of her hands swung through Paul’s torso— causing him to take a step back and into the counter— as she brought it back to her side, sighing. Her fingers were trembling.

_She wants a smoke._

Hannah pretended not to notice. 

“It’s okay,” she murmured in response, still fidgeting with the ends of her braids, even as Lex carefully slid a pop tart to her on the table before checking the time on the kitchen clock. 

“ _Shit_ , I’ve gotta get going.” 

Hannah nodded. 

There was that tension again. Even as she took a bite of the stale pastry, it didn’t fade, and although it wasn’t as heavy as last time, it still made her jerk her leg a little under the table. 

“Are you okay being alone for awhile today?” 

With a shrug, Hannah glanced up at her sister. “Not alone,” she corrected, “Paul and Emma.” 

Lex flinched. It only lasted a split second before she tried to mask it, but it was definitely there, even after she turned toward the door. “Right…” 

Hannah tried to offer her a smile. “They’re good!” She chirped, sitting up a little straighter. “Webby says so. I believe Webby.” 

_Lex doesn’t believe Webby…_

Though her older sister didn’t say it aloud, from the way she smiled a little too stiffly, it wasn’t too hard to connect the dots. 

“Right,” she said again, and after a moment of tension, she straightened herself out and snatched up her bag from the ground— causing the pins on it to jingle. “Does Webby have any other great spider wisdom to impart today? Or am I good to go to work?”

Hannah pressed a hand to her temple, frowning slightly. “Webby says... “ She started, tilting her head as though trying to hear better, “doors open both ways… familiar… not right, and....” There was a questioning lilt in her tone when she spoke, trailing off before trying to listen for Webby. “Accident.” 

Her headache intensified, causing her to press her hands to the sides of her head and groan— a flurry of images she couldn’t quite understand flashing through her mind, too fast for her to even pinpoint what they _were_ —

Lex’s hand settled on her shoulder. “Hey— you okay?” 

It cleared. 

Stiffening slightly under Lex’s touch, Hannah carefully glanced at her sister and nodded before kicking out her leg, sock connecting with one of the table legs. “That’s what Webby says,” she reported, watching as Lex nodded. 

“So I’ll just have to be extra careful today, huh?” She asked, squeezing Hannah’s shoulder lightly. 

“Yes,” Hannah agreed, “Careful.” 

**_She’ll be okay, Hannah._ **

Webby’s voice was gentler than it had been a moment ago, and although it caused her to stiffen a little in her seat, she managed to give Lex a smile. “Should go,” she added, gaze tracking to the kitchen clock— through an uncharacteristically quiet Emma. “not late yet.” 

Lex ruffled her hair in return— the action alone enough to make Hannah playfully swat at her sister’s hands as she pulled away. “Yeah, and if you keep holding me up, I’m fuckin’ gonna be,” she teased, sticking out her tongue on her way out the door. “You’re a public menace.”

Hannah giggled softly. “Not in public,” she countered, ignoring when Emma snickered at her response— focusing instead on when Lex gave a laugh. 

“Oh, _duh_ — gotta let them think you’re innocent, right? Then you can get away with more shit.” Grinning from ear to ear, the older Foster swung open the front door, shaking her head fondly at Hannah. “Right. I’m gone— _for real this time_.” 

When she stepped out onto the rickety front porch and made to close the door behind her with a wave, her hand missed the knob entirely. 

Not that it mattered. 

Emma pushed it shut behind her, and after a sideways glance at Hannah, locked it for good measure.

* * *

 _God_ , she needed a smoke. 

She’d only been working for an hour, and already, she was starting to get a little twitchy at the register— her thoughts cycling back to when she’d left the house no matter how hard she tried to keep them focused on just getting through her shift. 

She had closed the door. 

She _had_ to have closed the fucking door. 

Just like she _also_ had to have knocked that plate over, and like how it had to have been a car going by that had rattled her bedframe the night before. 

Again, she played the scene over in her mind, staring aimlessly at the shelf of model cars in front of her without seeing it— too focused on the images flickering through her thoughts. She’d waved goodbye to Hannah. She’d reached for the door. She’d— _missed the handle, Lex, that’s what you did, you didn’t touch the handle at all, you’d remember that_ — grabbed the handle and swung it shut behind her with a bit more force than she’d needed. It was a normal goodbye. 

Her fingers twitched on the countertop next to the register. 

Leaning on it with a bit more weight, Lex shifted her weight and sighed heavily— _already_ , she was yearning for her break despite the short amount of time that had passed— she hadn’t even had to _fucking help anyone yet._

The twitching turned to something closer to scratching. 

_Calm down._

_You closed the door._

_Why is this bothering you so fucking much?_

It shouldn’t have been, but as Lex, once again, adjusted her position, she couldn't’ shake that uneasy feeling off her shoulders. 

It would’ve been easier if the door was the first thing that had been off, but _no_ . Every second Lex spent in that house, she swore, it was like the place had a mind of its own. Things would just… _happen_ — and if had just been those few, minute things, she would’ve been able to write it all off like she’d been _desperately_ trying to do since the move— but that wasn’t the case. 

Because of _course_ it wasn’t the case. 

They weren’t even things she could predict, either. The only thing that even resembled something constant was the flickering lights, but even _that_ didn’t have a real cycle to it, and sometimes, the lights would just go out. 

_It’s the electrical being finicky._

_Like Gary said._

The fact that she was trying to reassure herself with something said by _Gary fucking Goldstein_ alone was enough to make her pinch the bridge of her nose and dig her nails a little into the counter. 

_Snap out of it._

_It’s fine._

_It’s just a new house, that’s the only problem. You’re stressed out about finally having a place to stay, and you’re just settling badly— it’s not fucking ghosts—_

The thought made her stomach twist.

_It’s not._

Ghosts weren’t real. Ghosts were _not fucking real_. 

Her hands curled into fists on the counter. Shaking her head— pushing the thought aside— she forced herself to take a breath in and let one of her hands fall down to her pocket. The motion was damn near automatic. When she shifted her weight, one of her boots brushed against her backpack. 

_Frank… doesn’t get here for another little while, right?_

Not that she cared. 

The worst she’d get would be a proverbial slap on the wrist before getting told to go outside— or he’d get her to butt out. No big deal. 

With one more cautionary glance at the surrounding interior— tired eyes flicking over the somewhat clean interior before she deemed it safe and brought a cigarette up to her lips, struggling momentarily with her lighter. 

Her hands were shaking. 

She ignored it. 

_Your house is_ ** _not_** _fucking_ ** _haunted_** _._

Her thumb flicked over the lighter, and with a practiced motion, she lit up, inhaling quickly. 

Hannah had probably just ran into Alice between home and school and picked up the names from there. It wasn’t unlikely— the kid liked her, after all— and Alice was an honest person who wore her heart on her sleeve at times. And besides, Hannah had a way of just _telling_ that something was wrong. She would’ve asked. 

_But why didn’t she mention it?_

Letting smoke curl up from the sides of her mouth, Lex furrowed her brow. 

_Wouldn’t she have said something?_

She took another drag. Dug her teeth into the cigarette a little more than she would normally. Kicked her bag again— the sound of the pins all jingling more than a little satisfying. 

None of it got rid of that creeping, uncertain feeling that seemed content to wrap around her, which was fucking stupid— it was just a bunch of coincidences. That was it. Just coincidences that seemed to follow her around and made it hard to even do so much as sleep without feeling like her skin was crawling. 

When she exhaled a plume of smoke, her breath was uneven. Shaky. 

Her foot knocked up against her bag again. 

_She just happened to choose the names Paul and Emma. That’s all._

_No big deal._

The cigarette was doing nothing in the way of calming her nerves. Once again, Lex was barely focused on her surroundings, numb to the sound of some shitty pop tune playing over the damaged speakers. 

There was no such thing as ghosts. No such thing. They’d just moved into a new place, Hannah was coping through imaginary friends, and she was driving herself insane reading too much into nothing— because that’s what it was. It was nothing. Fuck’s sake— she’d screamed at a _toaster popping_ earlier. 

Again, she took a pull from the cigarette— letting the cloud out slow and watching it fade away into nothing beneath the busted smoke detector. Her twitching slowed to a tapping. 

_This is fine._

_There’s nothing to—_

“ _Alexandra_!” 

Shit. Looking up— not bothering to try snuffing out her cigarette— Lex tried in vain not to shoot Frank a glare when she met his eyes. When she spoke, her voice was dry. “Yes, Frank?” She asked, quirking a brow. 

His nostrils flared. His fingers twitched where they were pressed against his pink shirtsleeve, and behind his glasses, his eyes were glittering with something that looked genuinely disappointed. Not all that surprised, though. She couldn’t blame him.

“Now, I’m going to ask you what _exactly_ is wrong with this picture,” he started, “and the first two guesses don’t count.”

There were a lot of things wrong with the picture. She hadn’t slept properly in weeks— so her eyes were decorated with heavy, damn near purple bags. Her nerves were fried to a crisp thanks to her mom having come home earlier last night than she’d expected— _yes_ , the bed-shaking bullshit had stopped, but she was now wearing a hoodie to cover up a nasty series of bruises across her upper arms— _and_ she was fairly convinced her house was haunted. 

“So am I supposed to guess wrong the first two times?” She responded, flatly, resisting the urge to snicker when Frank’s expression changed to one of genuine annoyance— a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

“ _No—_ ”

“Did that count as a guess?”

That muscle in his jaw twitched again. “Lex, just—” Moving quickly, he stepped behind the counter with her before gesturing toward the back of the store. 

A small part of her wanted to push another button, though with another look into his eyes… 

_I’m never getting out of here if I can’t keep a job._

“On it,” she grumbled, moving to step past him, though—

“Put your bag in the back, too,” Frank instructed, “it’s gonna get stepped on.”

Lex rolled her eyes. “On that, too, Frankie.” 

With a lazy sort of flourish, Lex swung her hand under the counter and grabbed her pack up by one of its straps before swinging it over her shoulder and flicking a bit of cigarette ash onto the floor. “Back in a flash.”

She dragged her feet. She couldn’t help it. Had she the time, she would’ve stopped for coffee on her way in, but the only shop on the way had been Beanies, which wasn’t exactly known for stellar service. 

_And Emma used to work there, did you think about—_

Shaking herself as she pushed open the back door in an attempt to push the thought away, Lex sauntered into the storeroom before awkwardly slumping down on one of the boxes and putting her head in her hands, half-spent cigarette still lazily trailing smoke after her. 

It took her a second before she slowly brought it to her lips and took a puff, using her other hand to brush her hair out of her eyes as she reached for her phone. 

Her typing was shoddy with one hand, and it did take a few moments to actually open up google, but eventually, Lex managed to thumb out a query and hit enter.

**Paul and Emma Hatchetfield**

As vague as it was, it didn’t take long to find what she was looking for.

**“Three dead and several injured in Starlight Theater collapse”**

_Only three?_

The number seemed low for a freaking _meteor_ , but at the same time, Lex could see why. It was some Shakespeare night, after all— the mall had had a shitty poster up for what she could only have imagined was an equally shitty production— so the turnout had probably been low. 

She didn’t really read the full article— just skimming as she took another halfway puff from her mostly gone cigarette. She learned that the other dead person had been named Sam, and that he’d been the police chief— the prick with the leather jacket that would cruise around town like he owned the place, and that his wife had been the one who had called the paramedics, screaming that his “brain had fallen out”.

_Jesus._

She scrolled further down. 

There were a pair photographs attached— one of the sleazy, long-haired cop that she didn’t pay much attention to, and another… of a young couple. 

Lex’s brows drew together. 

For a reason she couldn’t put a finger on, her heart twisted in her chest. 

_Paul Matthews and Emma Perkins._

They looked _happy_ — and not fake smile-for-the-camera happy. Like _really_ happy. The guy— _Paul_ — had one arm wrapped loosely around the shorter woman’s shoulders, and she was grinning like a loon up at him. It was a candid shot— probably snapped by a friend of theirs— but as Lex looked them both over, she couldn’t help but feel almost _bad_ for them. They weren’t an old couple— hell, Emma looked young enough to still be in college, and although Paul was tall, he couldn’t have been much older. 

_Sucks for them._

They were standing on their front porch— a ramshackle trailer from the look of it— 

Lex’s eyes widened a smidge. 

A _familiar_ looking ramshackle trailer. Though the image was blurred in the background— the main focus being Paul and Emma’s twin grins— Lex could make out a small flower planter with a few marigolds clinging to life in it, and a slightly cracked window… that matched… 

Her hand started to shake. She couldn’t help it.

_That’s definitely our shitty trailer._

With her movements far too stiff to be considered completely normal, Lex turned off her phone and stuffed it back into her pocket before taking another shaky drag. God. She needed to get a grip. 

She was losing it. That was all— she was losing it, and connecting dots that weren’t there— _is that really a coincidence? There’s too much there for it to just be a coincidence—_ she was—

Her gaze settled on the shelf she’d spent the past day filling. It wasn’t the neatest job. The stuffed spiders were wedged in next to each other in a haphazard mess of limbs, and the prop skeletons she’d had to take down weren’t exactly in one piece, thanks to them being propped up a little bit higher than she could reach without a stepladder, and beneath them… 

She shifted her weight on the box. 

The boards. 

She’d slid them onto the bottom shelf the day Alice had stopped by, and they were stacked in something resembling neatness— though there was one on top that was somewhat crooked. 

_It’s not worth it._

After all, those boards were fake as shit— and having them at ToyZone only further proved that they weren’t to be taken seriously. If kids could use them— ages eight and up, according to the packaging— they couldn’t be dangerous, and they couldn’t be _real_.

_Which implies that ghosts are real._

_Fucking great._

_You’re really losing it._

Again, she dug her teeth into the cigarette, taking one more good breath in before tossing it to the concrete floor and digging it into the ground under her heel, standing up for good measure. Her gaze didn’t leave the boards— that crooked one taunting her. It would be easy enough to grab… just to prove that the whole thing was bullshit. 

After all, the boards weren’t real— the _ghosts_ weren’t real— so there was _no fucking reason for her to feel so nervous about it._

Making a snap decision, Lex stepped forward, and in one fluid motion, snatched up the crookedly placed board. “You,” she hissed through her teeth, “are going to help me out.” The pins on her bag jingled as she quickly shrugged it off her shoulders, fumbling momentarily with the zipper. 

_It’s not real. None of this shit is._

_And this is going to prove it._

The board fit nicely in her bag. The zipper didn’t catch on it when she pulled it back closed, and as she held the closed pack up, Lex chose to ignore the fact that her heart rate had picked up. 

She was going to work her shift. 

She was going to go back home. 

And then she was going to prove that ghosts didn’t exist. 

Simple as that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bit of a sneaking suspicion that Lex is oversimplifying things... can't say why.


	5. won't you send a sign?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: Child abuse. This was mentioned in the tags, but I figured I'd slap an extra warning here, seeing as this is the first time it's actually written.

Hannah was mumbling again. 

It had started out quiet, from what Paul could tell, quiet enough that it had been easy enough to tune her out as she doodled at the table, schoolwork neatly finished up and pushed to the side with her stuffed spider sitting faithfully in her lap. The sound of her pencil scratching away at the paper was a gentle sort of constant— stopping every now and again before it would pick up with the same practiced, gentle strokes. 

The mumbling was always there. 

It was something that Hannah just _did_. She was either dead silent, mumbling, or speaking— though when she spoke, it was usually only to Lex, and even then, it was never full sentences. 

Not that Paul minded. 

The silence between them was somewhat comfortable— Hannah with her attention on her drawing, and Paul with his attention flicking between spacing out and watching Emma as she floated— damaged legs crossed at the ankles— in the middle of the living room, the pencil scratching serving as background noise that was more than welcomed in Paul’s mind. 

Strange as it was, the three of them had fallen into something similar to a routine. It wasn’t a very complicated one— just one where they shared space and silence together— and it was one Paul… didn’t mind. Not in the slightest. 

It was the closest thing to normal that he and Emma had managed to find. 

Trying his best to stay seated despite the fact that it took a good amount of concentration to convince his body to _not_ pass through the chair, Paul perked up a little when Hannah’s gaze turned to him. 

Silently, the girl turned around her drawing and cocked her head— her eyes only meeting his momentarily before she spoke up, glancing down at the floor as she did. “..looks like space?” She asked, somewhat timidly. 

Paul smiled. His eyes tracked down to the drawing, and after a moment of looking at what appeared to be a very large, very serene looking spider surrounded by a small galaxy, he nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he replied, and after a small silence, he added, “I like the spider.”

Hannah nodded sagely. “Webby,” she explained, tapping the end of her pencil against the spider’s head. “Lives in space.”

With that, she turned the paper back around and returned to carefully shading in bits and pieces of the enormous creature’s underbelly, leaving Paul to nod along with her, albeit, with a bit of a confused expression on his face.

Webby, it seemed, was another part of their usual routine— and from what Paul had gathered through Hannah’s scattered words, was here to stay— a creative outlet, of sorts. It was also worth mentioning that according to Hannah, he and Emma had gained the spider’s approval somehow, which in Paul’s opinion was almost sweet. 

“I should probably pick up that plate, huh?” Emma’s voice cut through the silence, at which Paul shrugged.

“Probably.”

“Unless she’d like, freak out more seeing that I put it away.”

“Wouldn’t that be more of a reason in your books?” 

From the noise that Emma made in response— a cross between a huff and a laugh— Paul knew he was right, a smug sort of grin flitting across his face as he watched Emma drift through the kitchen counter and snatch the plate up right through it. 

_Yet another part of the normal routine— seeing how many of Lex’s buttons could be pushed before the teen had a nervous breakdown._

Probably not many more. In a way, Paul almost felt _bad_ for letting it get this out of hand— but at the same time, the sooner she realized the pair of them _weren’t_ figments of Hannah’s imagination, the sooner things would… change? Apparently?

Emma had explained it to him at some point— something about using Lex to get to the outside world, just to say goodbye _properly_ to a few people… 

_Bill._

Just _thinking_ the name made what was left of Paul’s unbeating heart sink in his chest. 

Watching Emma quietly from where he halfway sat— half of his body already sinking through the chair despite his best efforts to keep himself stationary, Paul finally gave up on staying put and stood, stretching out a little. The feeling of his feet lifting up off the floor was more than a little disorienting. No matter how much he tried to convince himself he was _used to it_ , that it was _fine_ , and _normal_ , and _not at all strange_ , he still felt a little rush of disorientation whenever his body decided to levitate. 

Which was often. 

Above his head, the lights buzzed. 

Beside him, Emma raised her head. “Stop thinking,” she reprimanded. 

“It’s not on purpose—” He started, though he quickly stopped when she raised her eyebrows, setting the plate down on the countertop with a small clack of noise. 

“Yeah, but it only happens when you’re—” she pointed at him, “—overthinking. So stop.”

“I’m not…”

The protests died in his throat when the light above him flickered. 

Despite how much the pair of them had learned, Paul was still no closer to getting the light flickering to stop. It was just something that seemed to happen when he did pretty much _anything_.

Emma huffed lightly under her breath. “Seriously, quit it, you’re gonna give Hannah a seizure or something.” 

Paul’s gaze flicked to where Hannah sat, still quietly sketching, before he turned back to Emma. “She’s fine. And you can’t call me out— I thought you were going to give Lex a heart attack earlier.”

“She’s _fine_ ,” Emma echoed, “and you aren’t helping with your freaky strobe lights, either.”

“Right, right…” 

Paul took a few steps forward, biting back a smile as well as he could manage. The whole scene was just… so _normal_. It was easy enough to forget that Hannah was even there, quietly sketching away— easy enough to convince himself that it was a normal Wednesday morning. 

Easy enough to convince himself that he’d gotten down on one knee and asked a simple question. 

The light buzzed— bulb burning so brightly it threatened to break— before Paul managed to gather a response. “...so you _are_ helping by what… shaking the bed around?”

Her fist playfully connected with his shoulder, and when he turned, she was smiling one of those pretend-offended smiles. “She was _snoring_ —”

“You don’t sleep!” 

“Yeah, and neither does Hannah, not with all that racket.”

“Caused by _you_.” 

“ _No,_ caused by _Alexandra—_ ”

“Lex.” Hannah cut in, breaking her usual silence.

When Paul turned to face her, she was looking up— though her eyes weren’t trained on him. They were focused, instead, on Emma— and from what it looked like, they were locked with her own. 

_I think that’s the first time she’s talked to her…_

From the way that Emma didn’t respond, it seemed like that was the case. Her mouth hung open a little. It was rare that Emma Perkins was stricken speechless. As long as Paul had known her, she’d always had a snappy comeback— it was one of the reasons he’d been so drawn to her, just the way that she was always unashamedly _her_. 

Seeing her without words was almost entertaining. 

She seemed absolutely caught in Hannah’s gaze— stuck as those intelligent eyes met her own with her mouth hanging open and her words gone. 

Hannah didn’t move momentarily— her back a little straighter than her previous, slouchy position— before she quickly looked back down and mumbled something just loud enough for Paul to hear. 

“...made a mistake.”

Emma’s eyebrows crept up on her forehead. “I… yeah, sorry, _Lex_ ,” she tried to correct, though when she did—

“Not you,” Hannah interrupted. Her pencil lay forgotten beside the half-finished drawing of the spider— the creature’s half-shaded eyes leering up at Paul from on the page. 

Something heavy settled in the back of his mind. Something familiar. 

The next time she spoke, her words were a little louder— growing harsher, damn near desperate. Her jittering had stopped, instead, turning to shaking. “ _Lex_ . Bad mistake. Board. Red— red accident. Doors open both ways— _both ways!”_ The last bit of her sentence came out in a harsh shout— loud enough to make Paul flinch away. 

_What do I do?_

Although Hannah wouldn’t look at him, she was clearly starting to panic— her trembling hands coming up to clutch at the sides of her head, downcast eyes wide, small shoulders heaving with the force of her quick, ragged breaths. “ _Both ways!”_ She repeated in a terrified whine, tugging hard enough on her braids to make Paul’s own head feel like it was aching. “Can’t close— _wrong deal_ —”

The pencil skittered off the edge of the table. 

“— _not him_ —”

“Hannah?” Paul barely registered that he was moving until he was standing before the shaking girl, instinctively reaching for her only for his hand to dip through her shoulder, a warmth flaring up through his fingers in the moments before Hannah jerked back. 

“ _No!”_ She snapped. When she looked up at him, there were tears in her eyes. Her gaze was desperate— wide, amber eyes threatening to flood over with tears. “ _Bad board,_ not safe, not… not safe!”

Pulling his hands away, struggling to find words, Paul hunched over to get on her level. “Hey, Hannah? Hannah, it’s alright— there’s nothing—”

“ _Not alright!”_ Hannah shrilled back in return, and as she did, she pushed her chair out— legs squealing on the floor under the force. “Lexi— _bad board_ —” Her hands were jammed _hard_ on the sides of her head, nails digging into her skin— 

A wet sounding sob broke from her. 

Try as Paul might to shush her, his words failed as he crouched beside her. “Lex is just at work, I— I’m sure she’ll be home soon…”

“Yeah!” Emma seconded, her eyes flicking to Paul’s for reassurance. “She’s only got… what, an hour and a half left? Back before you know it.”

Paul nodded. It was overly enthusiastic. Forced. “Yeah, and hey, we’ll keep an eye out for boards, okay? Especially bad ones.” 

Hannah whimpered in response. Her hands trembled as they dragged down the sides of her head, coming to clasp tightly together in her lap. Her heels dug into the floor— breathing growing ever more frantic. 

His gaze shot to Emma for help. 

‘ _What do we do?’_ she mouthed, at which Paul shrugged helplessly. 

‘ _I don’t know._ ’

Whenever they’d seen Hannah get this bad— when the mumblings had gotten shrill and turned into sobs— Lex had always been there to comfort the younger Foster girl, to wrap her up and keep her from whatever was causing her harm— but what could they do? Paul couldn’t touch her— though from how she was shaking, she clearly didn’t want to be touched— she looked about ready to melt into the floor just to keep the two of them away.

“N-Not safe... “ She repeated, her voice thin. 

“Hey, no,” Emma tried to correct, leaning a little closer, “you’re—”

She didn’t get to finish. 

With a rattle and a crash, the front door swung open. 

If Paul’s heart was still beating, he would’ve felt it stop in his chest. 

In an instant, Hannah’s panicky words stopped— turning to harsh, heavy breaths that bordered on wheezes.

A voice broke the silence. One Paul had come to dread. 

“Don’t you _ever_ go to school?”

Hannah didn’t respond. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights— her eyes wide, fixated on the door. Her body was stiff, and although she looked ready to bolt, Paul knew she was frozen. 

The light buzzed. 

Beside him, Emma stiffened— he didn’t even have to _look_ to know that she was seething, feeling her anger pouring off her like sweat. He knew he was no better. 

That look— that raw, sharp _fear_ — in Hannah’s eyes was something that he’d seen on her too many times. Usually, it was fleeting— like the times Lex wouldn’t rap on the door a few times before unlocking it— and it would be over before it began— but sometimes it was because a certain woman was back home. 

He wasn’t a violent person— never had been— but seeing that fear on Hannah’s face made him curl his hands into fists. His shoulders stiffened. 

Emma’s fingers dug into his arm. “What do we—”

She was cut off by Ms. Foster stepping through her, and the rest, to Paul, anyway, was a blur. 

He barely processed Hannah when she stood and tried to run. Barely processed when her mother grabbed her up by the collar of her shirt and pinned her against the wall. Barely processed _anything_ — any of Hannah’s cries and pleas—

_This was supposed to be our home._

“Did my work— _promise_ —”

_This was supposed to be a safe place._

“— _STOP_ —”

His feet rose off the floor. 

Hannah’s voice broke into sobs— the sound alone enough to make Paul’s chest feel tight, that awful, choking mess of words and apologies for things that weren’t her fault—

A sharp crack caused it all to stop. 

A mark bloomed across Hannah’s cheek— bright white at first before melting into an angry red. 

Something inside Paul _snapped_ when the child was dropped— hitting the floor in a shaking, sobbing heap, though she was on her feet in seconds. When the kid wanted to move, she could _move_ . Her panicky breaths continued as she shot down the hall, sock-clad feet skidding in a way that made it look like she was skating, careening _through_ Emma on her way. 

Her hand left his arm. 

He barely noticed. His eyes were trained on Ms. Foster as she raised a hand. 

“Where the _fuck_ do you think you’re—”

The kitchen lightbulb shattered— glass shards spraying across the floor. 

Though that wasn’t the part that made a grim satisfaction settle in Paul’s chest.

And across the face of Ms. Foster. Though the wounds weren’t deep— not deep at all— it was enough to pull her attention away from what had been happening with a loud, awful _shriek_ that Paul barely heard. 

Down the hall, a bedroom door slammed— and at the sound of a lock clicking—

_She’s safe._

There was silence as Ms. Foster took her raised hand and delicately pressed it against her face. It came away bloodied. There wasn’t much— nothing more than a few light scratches— but she paled. 

_Good._

She stayed frozen for a good few minutes. When she moved again, it was almost underwhelming— no real panic, just a mumbled string of curses directed toward the electrical unit. 

_How?_

_How is she so calm after doing that?_

It wasn’t right— not what either of the girls had to go through, _god_ , he wasn’t violent and he hadn’t ever planned on _becoming_ violent, but the way she treated them made him want to just—

Emma’s hand touched his shoulder. “...Paul?” 

—all the fight went out of him. Exhaustion— the first he’d felt since death— slammed into him like a freight train. 

“ _Paul?_ ” 

It took all the energy he had left to look down at her, and when he did, his eyes were frightened. “...did I?” He trailed off, though a measured glance up at where the lightbulb used to be finished his sentence for him. 

He was vaguely aware of Ms. Foster rummaging around through a couple of drawers that had been behind Hannah where she sat— it didn’t even look like she particularly _cared_ that blood was beading up along her cheeks, though after closer inspection, Paul realized that her hands were trembling. 

For a reason he couldn’t quite explain, a pang of satisfaction hit his chest. 

“Yeah, it just— it fuckin’ exploded— did you mean to do that?” 

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

 _Yes_.

The affirmation was one that bubbled up through his head before he could stop it. Swallowing nervously, stepping back— back through the small, half sized wall separating the kitchen and living room. “I just wanted her to be okay, Em, I just— I got so _angry_ —”

“Fuckin’ tell me about it,” Emma seconded, “hell, I don’t even care if it _wasn’t_ an accident, it’s good that that bitch finally got what was coming to her.” Waving a hand Ms. Foster’s way, Emma narrowed her eyes in a glare. Her nostrils flared. “I can see why Lex hides her fuckin’ paycheck,” she growled. 

The woman in question— wiping at the blood dribbling down her cheek— was rooting around through the drawers, and as Paul watched, it was made pretty obvious that she wasn’t entirely sober. Her movements were clunky. Broken. 

“I just wish we could _do_ something,” Paul got out after a moment of silence spent watching the woman snatch up a couple of bills from the drawer, “I— I mean _yes_ , the lights were good—”

“Hell yeah they were! She looked _scared_ , god, I _swear_ , if we weren’t dead, I’d fucking _throttle_ her for treating them like that— did you see those bruises Lex had?” 

Paul’s throat tightened. “It didn’t change anything,” he got out as Emma phased through the wall after him, “it didn’t—”

“Hannah got away, didn’t she?” 

“But she didn’t those other times! We can’t always protect her— this is the _first time_ we’ve managed to do it, a-and what if that’s just… it?” 

He couldn’t meet Emma’s eyes when he finally went on, wanting so badly to fidget despite the fact that there was nothing he could pick up. He settled for raising his hands and twining his fingers with his tie. “...I’m just… I’m so _tired_ , Emma… I can’t keep _watching_ it— we’re stuck here, and so are they— and they’ve got it so much worse even though we _died!”_

His sentence was punctuated by the front door slamming shut— though from the sound of footsteps on the front porch, he knew it wasn’t any of his doing. 

Emma’s face fell. 

“I know.” 

From the look on her face, he knew it was true. There was defeat in those eyes— that defiance that had come from shattering the bulbs completely gone, replaced by hopelessness, and though it only lasted a second, it was more than visible. 

Turning, Emma faced the cracked front window and used one hand to adjust her beanie. Her lips pulled back in a scowl— and when Paul looked where she was looking, he felt his own brow crease upon seeing Ms. Foster climbing into the passenger side of some car— a stranger at the wheel. 

_Another one-night stand._

From the amount of alcohol involved, Paul couldn’t help but think that “one night” might have been a bit of a lowball amount. Maybe three. 

“Fuckin’ hate that we can’t just call CPS on this shit,” Emma seethed through her teeth, turning and gliding across the floor to click the lock shut behind the wretched woman, “ _god_ — I don’t know how she can do that to them— either of them.” 

Paul nodded. It was all he could do. The words were sticking in his throat— making it hard to breathe, though not in a way that was painful. Nothing hurt anymore— not physically, sure, though mentally? It was taking all of Paul’s energy not to break something else. 

Emma’s hand found his— fingers squeezing his tightly. “We’ll help them. I don’t know _how_ , but _fuck_ if we’re not gonna try.”

He squeezed back. When he found his words, they were quiet, but full of energy— something he couldn’t quite explain, not that he had to explain it. 

“We’ll help.”

He was certain of that. He just wasn’t sure _how_.

* * *

_Why am I doing this?_

It had been the only thought on Lex’s mind as she’d made the trek back from ToyZone. She could feel the board pressing into her back through her worn bag— the box, though unassuming, growing heavier with each step she took under the watchful eye of the streetlights. Her steps were quick. Her breath fogged up the air. Her body was practically on autopilot as she strode down the familiar streets— which was fine enough. It wasn’t dark enough for it to be all that dangerous. 

Hands stuffed in her pockets, head down, Lex stomped a little harder than she needed to on a cluster of fallen leaves. 

It wasn’t guilt that was making it hard for her to focus. _Fuck_ being guilty about shoplifting from a corporate chain store— she hadn’t felt guilty about it before, she sure as shit wouldn’t be now. 

_Am I really nervous about this?_

It was total bullshit. She _knew_ that. Ghosts, demons— all of that— it was fake as all hell, and she was reading too much into nothing. After all, if it _was_ real, the age restriction on the toy would’ve been higher than eight years old, and she had a feeling they’d be a little more expensive than a measly twenty dollars, not that she’d paid it. 

Looking up— the last streaks of sunlight still somewhat illuminating the dingy street— Lex turned into the trailer park’s driveway, pulling her hood off her as she did. One of her hands moved to the strap of her backpack— tugging on it slightly and causing the board’s position to shift against her back.

There were worse neighborhoods in Hatchetfield to live in— the Fosters had lived in most of them— and although the street seemed safe, it didn’t stop Lex from gripping her keys between her fingers in her pocket. Force of habit. 

_Something that usually comes along with being nervous._

_Which I am_ **_not._ **

Again, Lex kicked at a few scattered leaves. Harder this time.

She had no reason to be nervous about something that wasn’t real. Pack firmly on her shoulders, she turned, stepping up onto the front porch with her keys at the ready. The light outside was off, not that it was a problem. As much as Hatchetfield was a fucking dump of a town, Lex had to admit, the sunset’s orange glow was somewhat of a comfort, no matter how small it was as it shone off the doorhandle. 

Raising her hand, she rapped on the door— two longs and a short— before bringing the key up to the lock. 

There wasn’t an answer. 

_She’s probably asleep already…_

She _had_ worked a later shift than normal. Frank had found her cigarette butt in the loading bay, and consequently, she’d had to sweep the damn place from top to bottom, and to top it all off— when she was locking the front doors, she’d been cornered by Linda _fucking_ Monroe of all people. She’d wanted some refund on some piece of shit one of her _beautiful blond boys_ had broken, and in all honesty, Lex had wanted to do nothing more than to tell her to fuck right off. 

Instead, she’d told her to come in tomorrow for some coupons, finished locking up, and turned tail before Linda could follow her. 

She turned the key in the lock. 

For whatever reason, her heart was racing as she stepped inside and found the kitchen shrouded in darkness. It was quiet. Her mother’s car was still parked in the drive— though there hadn’t been an angry shout in response to her tapping, which meant that she was most likely out. 

_Better safe than sorry._

Her hand found the lightswitch, and when she flicked it… nothing happened. Her brow furrowed. “Hannah?” She whispered, stepping forward without bothering to kick off her shoes, eyes flicking up to where the bulb had once been. 

Any sense of bravery that had come with the lights from outside was starting to fade. Her bag felt like it was full of rocks. The windows— though not closed— didn’t seem to be letting all that much light into the room, barely illuminating the shoddy table for two and the stack of papers somewhat disturbed on its surface, along with what looked like a half-finished drawing. 

Weird. 

Usually, Hannah was pretty meticulous about cleaning up… 

_Did the bulb blow out?_

That probably would’ve frightened her enough to leave the room, right? Taking a moment to drop her bag in a heap by the table, Lex put her palm on the wood and leaned a little against it, though—

_“Fuck!”_

—she jerked away in an instant. 

Glass was scattered across the table, and as Lex stumbled— barely managing to keep her balance— she pulled her hand close against her chest, not wanting to look down at it. 

She did anyway. 

_Shit._

Though it wasn’t a deep wound, Lex could tell it was one that would bleed profusely— already, crimson was dripping down onto her sleeve, soaking the worn fabric right through. 

_Shit shit shit._

Pulling her fingers tightly over the jagged wound, Lex crouched— noticing too late the spray of glass that hadn’t gotten cleaned up on the floor. It was damn near invisible, yet at the same time, she couldn’t _believe_ she hadn’t seen it. Blood was starting to seep between her fingers— welling up in small red streams as she clumsily grabbed her bag and unzipped the zipper. She usually kept a stash of bandaids in the bottom— _did I seriously use them all up?_

Gingerly, she used her injured hand to push the board out of the way, smearing a bit of red across the shitty packaging. 

_Fuck_ , where were those bandaids? 

Her fingers brushed up against the bottom of her bag a few more times before she managed to find the plastic baggie wedged in the bottom of her bag. God. Her palm stung, and it only seemed to get worse when she found the bandages— undoing the ziploc with her teeth to keep from unclenching her fist. 

Keeping pressure on it was supposed to help, right? 

The gash burned in a way that made her grit her teeth against the throbbing she could feel— slowly uncurling her fingers to better press a few bandages against it. It was a shitty patch job. 

The darkness wasn’t helping. 

It took three tries to get the wound covered, and a lot of soft cursing, but when Lex finally pulled away, the bandages had settled over the small laceration in a way that made it so she wasn’t leaving a red trail down her arm, and after she was satisfied with that, she moved almost on autopilot to find the broom. 

Because she hadn’t done enough _fucking_ sweeping, apparently. 

Her arms were stiff from her shift— legs aching slightly and wounded palm throbbing with every motion she made— but it had to get done. Knowing her mom, she’d flip if she came home to a kitchen full of glass, and Hannah wouldn’t do it. 

Using the broom, she pushed the backpack— hanging open slightly— under the table, and managed to sweep the glass into a decent pile, taking extra care to lightly bat the pieces off the table into the pile as well. 

The stack of papers rustled. 

A cold chill wound across Lex’s back, though she didn’t pay it any mind— sweeping up the whole mess into the dustpan before unceremoniously dumping it in the trash. 

The house was quiet when she stopped. If that damn draft wasn’t blowing over her in a way that made her skin crawl, she would’ve liked the quiet. Her eyes slid closed. A sigh pulled from her throat. 

_Gotta pick up lightbulbs tomorrow._

That was gonna be a blow and a half to her savings… shit. 

Her fingers twitched at her sides. She’d _probably_ have to dip into the money her mother always had her set aside for whatever she was drinking, which would end in her with a welt that she couldn’t just cover up with a sweater no matter how she tried, unless she played her cards _exactly_ right, and even then… the chances were slim to nil. 

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Lex forced the thoughts out of her head and glanced down the hall, catching sight of a small sliver of light creeping from under the door of her and Hannah’s shared room. 

_She’s still up._

Straightening up, she carefully strode down the hall and lightly rapped on the door— mimicking the pattern she had used before. “Hey, Banana,” she greeted, trying to keep her tone upbeat as she stepped back— hearing the small sounds of her younger sister shuffling, “was today a good day or a—”

The door swung open— the dim shine of Hannah’s booklight momentarily blinding Lex, though when she looked down at her sister, Hannah finished the sentence for her in a voice that sounded heavy. 

“Bad day.”

“Well, I don’t think it could’ve been that…” 

It was then that Lex saw the ugly, red handprint on Hannah’s cheek. Her words died on her lips. A cold chill ran over her. The air left her lungs. She could feel her expression falling— forced optimism turning to a sickly, sinking dread. 

_No…_

“Oh my _god_ , Hannah— are you okay?” 

The question was all it took for Hannah to crumple. 

Lex barely had time to brace herself before the younger Foster all but threw herself at her, wrapping her arms tight around her waist and shaking like a leaf— the older girl not hesitating before wrapping her up in a shaky embrace and trying to guide her over to her bed. 

“Hey, Hannah, it’s okay— it’s okay, it’s just me… we’re okay… you’re okay, it’s… it’s gonna be okay...” She soothed despite the anger curling low in her stomach. 

_I should’ve been there._

_I should’ve fucking been there._

Her hands— fingers stiff and threatening to shake— rubbed awkward circles over Hannah’s back as she shook. The second she sat down, Hannah was practically on top of her, mumbling incoherently through sniffling, heavy breaths. 

All Lex could do was hold her tighter. 

It was a familiar scene. 

She _hated_ that it was a familiar scene— hated it more than words could convey. She hated the nights without sleep and the feeling of Hannah’s tears wetting her shirt. She hated feeling so fucking helpess to do anything other than hear about it after the fact— other than clean up the mess of bruises or scrapes, hell, she’d rather be the one getting them if it meant that Hannah could have a shot at a normal fucking childhood. 

She deserved that much, at least. 

“...bad day…” Hannah finally said again, sniffing harshly before looking up at Lex and choking out another word. “ _Hurts_.”

Moving her injured hand, Lex tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hannah’s ear and lightly cupped the side of her head— trying to better see the mark. It was worse than normal. 

_I hate that that’s a part of our normal._

Fingers twitching slightly, Lex tried her best to keep her expression concerned rather than angry. “Did you put ice on it?” 

Hannah nodded stiffly. “...still hurts.”

“I know, I… I’m so sorry, it… _fuck_ , I wish I could’ve helped, I…” 

Trailing off, Lex brushed Hannah’s bangs away from her eyes and struggled not to let her eyes well up with tears like they so wanted to. “You didn’t deserve that,” she mumbled, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here— I got stuck on closing, and I couldn’t just say no to extra hours, I…”

“Paul helped.” 

Lex’s insides turned to water. 

Her fingers twitched. 

“What?” She asked, at which Hannah looked away— looking at something over her shoulder. 

“The light,” she said, softly, “...accident.”

_Fuse must’ve blown and distracted her._

At least something had been on Hannah’s side— Lex had never been religious, but she found herself internally thanking whatever had finally decided to take pity on her sister and blow up that light. 

“Yeah, I cleaned that up.”

“Hand?” 

Lex gave a soft laugh. “Felt the bandages, huh?” She tried to joke, pulling away from Hannah and showing her the patch job. “It’s not a big deal. Still got plenty of other medical stuff— in the morning, wake me up and I can smear some shit on that bruise to help you—”

“Red,” Hannah interrupted, her expression turning momentarily fearful, “red accident.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that— bleeding’s already stopped,” Lex assured her, offering a forced, too-tight smile, “it’s just a little scratch.”

There was a moment that passed where Lex was almost certain Hannah was going to disagree with her. Her sister’s eyes met her own, a look of concentration flitting across her face as one of her hands rose to press against her temple. “...Webby says…”

For a moment, her eyes looked glossy. Far away. They usually did while she was talking to Webby, though it didn’t make it any less unsettling. 

Silence fell between them. 

All Lex could look at was the mark— the mark that would soon be turning a deep, ugly purple— on Hannah’s cheek with a tightness settling in her chest. 

“...Webby says ‘bad board’,” Hannah finally spoke up, blinking a few times. “Says doors… doors open both ways…”

Again, a chill passed over Lex. She tried her best to shove it off her shoulders, grounding herself with the feeling of Hannah pressed against her. “...Well, tell ya what— I’ll keep a lookout for bad boards and doors, how about that?” 

Hannah shifted slightly. “...promise?” 

Pushing away images of that stupid toy tucked away in her backpack, properly out of sight under the kitchen table, Lex forced herself to nod and gently brushed her fingers through Hannah’s bangs. “Promise,” she echoed, “now, try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll look at that bruise in the morning.”

“No boards?” Hannah piped as she slid off Lex’s lap and onto the bed, earning a soft laugh from her older sister. 

“Hey, I already promised, didn’t I?”

From the look of comfort that crossed Hannah’s face, Lex knew it was worth the lie. Her next smile wasn’t forced. It was gentle— a thing that rarely crossed her features— and it stayed put as she tuckdn’t Ied Hannah in and smoothed down her sheets. “Get some sleep,” she prompted. 

Hannah smiled back. “You too.” She chirped, at which Lex snickered, standing up and stretching. 

“Yeah, I’ll try,” she agreed, “so long as the draft doesn’t get any worse.” 

Reaching over to turn off Hannah’s light, Lex felt a cold breeze on her shoulders— _speak of the fucking devil._ Stiffening, Lex tried her best not to let her unease bleed into her expression as she turned, stepping toward the door. 

Though it was quiet, Hannah laughed under her breath. “Says she won’t do it again.”

“Who?”

Even before Hannah answered, Lex knew what she was going to say. 

“Emma.” 

It didn’t make her unease fade in the slightest.

“Right,” she agreed, and with that, she took a deep breath, offered Hannah a gentle smile, and opened up the door. “Night, Banana.”

“Night.”

The second the door clicked shut behind her, Lex allowed herself a moment to breathe before turning her attention to the kitchen and moving to break her promise. 

It was nothing personal. 

She just needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay OKAY I KNOW I left this on ANOTHER cliffhanger, but I wrote out the Ouija scene and it's an entire chapter by itself, so... see you all next week ;)


	6. you could use a buddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *twangy mandolin thing that plays after that line in the song*  
> (if you know, you know)

When Lex made her way back into the kitchen, she couldn’t help but think that it didn’t look like the house they’d been living in. The sunlight had disappeared completely in the time it had taken her to put Hannah to bed, casting the kitchen into complete and utter darkness that seemed to grow with every step she took into it, and that went without mentioning the fact that the air in the room seemed… colder than it had earlier. 

The hair on the back of her neck rose. Under her hoodie, the skin along her arms prickled with gooseflesh.

_It’s just that fucking draft._

It had to have been that draft— a draft that seemed to follow her around whenever she was at home, which was stupid, because _drafts didn’t follow people_. 

With that thought firmly in her mind, Lex exhaled through her teeth and turned her gaze down to her bag— the zipper hanging open just enough to show off the corner of the board’s packaging, shining softly in the scant moonlight filtering through the window. It looked so unassuming. In the dark, it could’ve been mistaken for some shitty board game— something that she’d nabbed from the back clearance rack that she and Hannah would’ve gotten frustrated with within ten minutes and never played again— though as she gingerly picked it up, she felt a surge of anxiety course through her veins. 

Her fingers twitched on the shoddy packaging. 

That chill in the air returned— this time to a point where her hands felt almost numb momentarily before she set the board down on the table as though it’d bite if she held it too long. 

_God, you’re really losing it, huh?_

It sure as shit seemed like it. 

She was eighteen, fuck’s sake— eighteen and scared of a toy meant for kids ten years younger than her. A _toy_ . If it was marketed by Hasbro, there was no fucking _way_ it was _actually_ dangerous. The only remotely dangerous things they sold were those shitty tricycles that didn’t come with helmets— and even those weren’t all that bad if the kid had half a brain. 

It was just a stupid board. 

Nothing more. 

Somehow, it still made Lex’s skin crawl— prickling along her back like a living thing— as she stepped away from the table and swung one of the kitchen cupboards open. 

_Don’t we have a flashlight in here?_

Power outages weren’t exactly uncommon in Hatchefield, after all— and it was better to be safe than sorry when that sort of thing happened. Her fingers brushed against a couple of batteries, sending them scattering— rolling around in the drawer that seemed to be… otherwise empty. _Fuck_. 

The thought of using her phone light flitted through her mind, though when she pulled it out to check the charge… she winced. 

_Fifteen percent… shit._

There were things that she could afford to replace, sure, but her phone sure as hell wasn’t one of them, and if the light had blown… just one good power surge could take the thing out for sure, and she didn’t exactly want it to die on her. 

Which left her with one option. 

Sighing— unable to keep a bit of a bitter laugh out of it— Lex stood up on tiptoe to reach one of the topmost cabinets and snatched up a couple of old tealights, not bothering to be careful with them, all but snatching up a few in each hand. They’d been there when they’d bought the place— and from the look of it, they were barely used. 

_That’s about to change._

It was easy enough to scatter them around in a vague circle on the table, and from there, it was almost automatic to draw her lighter from her back pocket and flick it to life. The flame made the shadows lengthen around her— even as she cupped her fingers around it to keep it from flickering out— the whole scene was lit with an eerie, wavering sort of light that barely managed to illuminate her face and the space in front of her. 

Her hands weren’t steady. The lighter shook despite her best efforts to keep it from doing so as she carefully brought the flame up to the wick of one of the candles and set it alight, the small pool of light growing with every candle she lit up until the little circle was burning almost cheerfully. 

The air was still cold around her. 

She ignored it. 

Instead of focusing on the fact that the temperature was wrong, she dug one of her nails gingerly into the plastic wrapping on the box. Her hand quivered. In the dim glow of the firelight, it was easy enough to spot goosebumps breaking out along her skin— 

_You’re being ridiculous._

_This is so fucking stupid._

That thought firmly in mind, Lex narrowed her eyes and set her jaw before dragging her nail quickly across the plastic. It split easily enough, and after a moment of lifting her arms up above the faintly glowing candles to make sure she didn’t set her hoodie alight, she managed to pop the top off the board and unceremoniously dump it along with the planchette out onto the table— the little piece skittering almost off the edge before settling next to a tealight. 

It seemed so much more sinister in the candlelight. 

Dropping the box on the floor under the table’s rickety legs, Lex took a moment to look down at the board— really _look_ at it— to take in all the little details. 

It looked like complete shit. 

Cheaply made, poorly patented, made to look old despite the fact that the damn thing had barely even left the box— everything about it was irritatingly tacky and _screamed_ that it was a complete cashgrab to begin with, just something to frighten a few kids at a party during Halloween. 

It wasn’t something to be taken seriously, and it _definitely_ wasn’t something she should’ve been using in an attempt to give herself some sort of closure— god, was that even what she was looking for? The whole fucking plan was to sit there by herself at the kitchen table, mumble some bullshit about spirits, move the plastic planchette around, and then to go to bed after having nothing happen. 

What a way to spend a Wednesday night. 

Pulling her phone out with a laugh, Lex pulled up Alice’s contact, moving to text her before—

_Wait. No. That’d be a shitty thing to do._

The poor girl had just been to a funeral, fuck’s sake— she sure as hell didn’t need to know that Lex was attempting to summon a pair of spirits in her shitty trailer home. 

She put the phone back into her back pocket. 

Alice _also_ didn’t need to know that said spirits happened to be named Paul and Emma. 

God, just _thinking_ their names, thinking of those picture-perfect smiles and the way they’d looked— thinking of that genuine _happiness_ the two seemed to be sharing— it was enough to make that chill in the air seem to worsen as Lex curled the fingers of her left hand around the planchette. The plastic, surprisingly enough, seemed almost warm against the bandages on her palm. Her hand did still ache a little— glancing down at it, it was fairly obvious that her blood had soaked through the bandages to dirty the planchette, which was just fucking _great_. 

_Really adds to the aesthetic._

She already had the candles, the bloodstained planchette, and the pitch fucking darkness— all she needed now was for the damn piece to _actually_ move when she put it down, which it wouldn’t do. 

Which it _couldn’t_ do. 

The fingers of her right hand twitched. She clutched the planchette tighter. 

“Right,” she breathed, tapping her fingers lightly on her hip, “okay.” 

She felt stupid. 

Hell, she probably _looked_ pretty stupid— still in her work vest, heavy bags under her eyes, candles laid out in a haphazard circle around a stolen ouija board— but in all honesty? Lex couldn’t give less of a _shit_ how she looked as she inhaled, ran her fingers through her unbrushed hair, and dumped the planchette onto the middle of the board. 

_Is there a proper way to do this?_

Her gaze moved down from the board’s surface down to the box by her feet— settling on a half-folded sheet of instructions that she’d completely disregarded earlier, a small smirk falling onto her face before she could help it when she caught sight of the tagline. 

**_The Ouija® Board is just a game…_ **

**_...or is it?_ **

Charming. Frank had loved that stupid saying— hell, Lex was fairly certain that she’d had to take down a banner with those words emblazoned on them. 

Exhaling through her teeth, Lex bumped the sheet with her shoe and squinted in the low light, trying to read the small print under the “setup” category. 

_You know what?_

_Fuck it._

She could figure it out. She’d seen a few horror movies— although living Hatchetfield could easily be compared to a horror movie, between the murder a year ago and the meteor crash— and from what she could tell, she was just supposed to… 

Moving slowly, she set her hands evenly on the little piece, being careful not to press too hard, seeing as she’d left a couple of small attachments meant for the bottom of the planchette in the box. Fuck that, too. It was too dark to be fiddling around with small attachments, and besides, this was supposed to be an easy way to put her stupid anxieties at ease— emphasis on _easy._ Fiddling around with tiny pieces in the dark wasn’t something that she’d mark as easy, so fuck it, and if it messed up the board somehow— that was just further proof that the whole thing was complete bullshit 

“...okay,” she breathed to the empty air, looking up for a second into the dark. “If there’s… anything here, uh… make yourselves known, I guess.”

_God, this is stupid._

Nothing was going to happen. She was talking to an empty kitchen— practically whispering to make sure Hannah didn’t wake up. 

_Hannah…_

The thought of her little sister alone was enough to make her freeze up momentarily— Hannah’s mumbling flitting through the back of her mind. Hannah usually didn’t talk all that much, but when she _did_ … 

_Bad board._

There was _no_ way her sister could’ve known that the board was in her bag. _Yes,_ Hannah tended to just… _know_ things, but it seemed so insignificant compared to some of the other predictions she’d made— and she hadn’t seemed _that_ panicked about what she’d been saying, though… the attention had been more directed toward the handprint on her skin. 

Under her fingers, the planchette stayed stock still. 

The tension coiled in her shoulders loosened a smidge. A breathy laugh escaped her throat. 

Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed. The only movement from the planchette had been her putting the damn thing in the center of the board, and that chill seemed… lesser than it had a moment ago. Less frightening. More like the faulty AC or the drafts that Gary had made sure to forewarn them about. So what if he’d looked pale when he’d said it? As far as Lex was concerned, Gary _always_ looked fucking pale— hell, he probably believed in ghosts. 

What a load of horse shit. 

What a _complete_ load of horse shit. 

Still dryly laughing, Lex kept her hands on the planchette and looked up, grinning through her disbelief. “Nothing?” She asked, a little louder. “I’m… I’m looking for the old owners of this house, so… if you’re here, this is like— your big shot.”

God, she didn’t even feel _cold_ anymore— the small pools of heat the candles provided seemed so much easier to feel. 

_Scared of nothing._

_See? You knew this was completely fake._

_Hannah must’ve seen their names in the paper._

_That’s all._

“Last call,” Lex announced after a moment’s pause, “if there’s a Paul or an Emma here, you should really think about—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before a cold feeling settled on her hands and the planchette jerked from her grasp. 

There wasn’t enough air left in her lungs for her to scream. 

Instead, Lex’s gaze snapped down to the board’s surface— mouth hanging open wordlessly— as the piece dragged to and fro in what seemed to be a completely nonsensical pattern, her hands moving in tandem with it. Her spine was straight— stiff and frozen. 

“N-No,” she started to say, not sure what she was reprimanding, though she didn’t bother trying to continue when whatever— _holy fuck there’s something there it’s a ghost I’m not crazy I’m not crazy I’m not_ — was moving the planchette finally seemed to get the hang of it, the hole in the plastic piece settling over every letter purposefully. 

**W**

_This can’t be fucking happening._

Lex’s heart pounded feverishly in her ears, her breaths starting to shorten— 

**A**

—shortening into little gasps that barely counted as breaths at all, eyes fixated on the fact that the piece was being tugged, being moved, being _handled_ —

**I**

—by something that was clearly _alive_ — or something that _had been alive_ — some _one_ —

**T**

The cold feeling left so suddenly that it felt almost like someone had thrust Lex’s fingers into a fire, and like that, she was standing by herself in the kitchen with her heart in her throat and her shaking hands still glued to the planchette. 

_That didn’t happen._

_You must’ve fallen asleep at the kitchen table._

_You’re dreaming._

_This is a nightmare, Lex, wake up._

One of her hands— the right one— fumbled to dig into her back pocket for her pack of cigarettes. The smoke alarm was broken inside, too, as far as she knew.

_This is a fucking nightmare._

_That’s all it—_

She didn’t get to finish the thought before a blast of cold air shot over her skin and the planchette jerked under her grasp.

* * *

The piece was _solid._

It was the first thing Emma noticed in her excitement— her fingers didn’t phase through it in the fucking _slightest_ when she reached for it, the motion quick and unpracticed. 

“Don’t scare her—” 

“We’re _ghosts_ , Paul, that shit went out the window the second we fucking ended up here,” she hissed, voice quivering slightly, “and she’s fine, she wanted to talk to us— _Paul, she wanted to talk to us!_ ” A smile was spreading across her face, a wide, damn near goofy grin— the kind she was rarely caught _dead— oh, poor word choice—_ wearing. 

She looked like a fucking idiot. 

She _also_ didn’t care. Damn it, she _deserved_ to look like a fucking idiot— all the ghostly shit she’d been doing had _finally_ paid off, albeit, at the expense of Lex’s well being, but who the fuck cared? So long as she was alive to complain about her lack of sleep to Hannah, as far as Emma was concerned, everything had gone _perfectly_ — she’d even gotten their names!

“She— you said she used our names, right?”

“Yeah, she— she did,” Paul affirmed, settling his hands quickly over hers and leaning over her shoulder, “I don’t really know how, but…” A sharp exhale ended his statement— the kind that made Emma know without even looking back at him that he was struggling to keep from breaking into a huge, dopey grin. “She _did.”_

His grip on hers tightened a fraction, though not in a way that made her uncomfortable— in a way that made her eyes crinkle at the corners and her own stupid smile widen, completely contrasting the wide-eyed expression Lex was wearing across from them. 

“So,” Lex finally croaked, voice barely rising above a whisper, “you’re… back?”

Emma snorted. She couldn’t help it. “Gee, wonder how she figured that out,” she remarked, already feeling Paul starting to guide their hands across the board’s surface. 

_Oh, we’re gonna have to spell upside-down, aren’t we?_

Staying quiet, Emma glanced up at Paul where he stood and lightly bumped her shoulder against his chest, earning a crooked smile. 

“Be nice,” he chided, letting the piece stay stationary over the letters for a little longer than was probably necessary. 

“She can fucking read—”

“I’m letting her process!” 

Hands moving in tandem with his, biting her cheek to keep a snide comment from slipping past her lips, Emma watched the planchette slide for a moment before glancing up at Lex, who looked about ready to become a ghost herself. Even in the warm glow of the firelight, her cheeks were deathly pale, and her eyes looked wild in a way— like those of a frightened animal caught in a trap.

A pang of sympathy hit her in the chest. 

_She’s gonna need some fucking therapy after this._

Between them and… everything else the kid had been through, Emma was surprised she was even able to quietly read the board’s message instead of bolting down the hallway in terror, because _Jesus_ , it looked like she wanted to. One wrong move on their part and Emma was fairly certain the board would get swept off the table entirely. 

**Y**

**E**

**S**

“...yes,” Lex read aloud before stiffening, seeming to realize that she’d _actually gotten a response_ , “y-you— okay, _fuck_ — this is— this is really happening, you’re… Paul and… Paul and Emma, right?” 

Hearing her name was enough to make Emma straighten a little. “Holy shit,” she started, looking over her shoulder up at Paul as he moved the planchette yet again, “oh my god, _Paul—_ ”

**Y**

“I know,” he breathed in return— his breath ghosting across her ear, “she knows, she—”

“Okay, taking that as another yes,” Lex interrupted, “you don’t— you don’t have to keep…” trailing off, placing the cigarette next to one of the flickering candles, she dragged her fingers through her hair, “k-keep spelling it, that’d… that just seems like a waste of our time, y’know?” The words were coming out too fast. Emma recognized it as the beginnings of panic— the same sort of frenzied, stuttering mess of syllables the girl would often take when her mother came home drunk and spitting accusations. 

From the way Paul stiffened behind her, it was obvious that he’d caught on. 

“Do we reassure her?” He asked, “she’s really shaken up…”

“I don’t know if we _can_.”

_Doesn’t mean that I don’t want to try…_

Biting her lip, Emma carefully guided the planchette under Lex’s hands, making sure her movements were slow. 

**O**

**K**

Lex nodded in response. The movement was stiff. Jerky. Forced enough that it made Emma wince. 

“...so you’re the ones who keep fucking with stuff? Like the lights? A-And my bed?”

Another wince. 

_Might’ve taken that a little too far… fuck._

Moving before Paul had a chance to, again, Emma took the plastic piece and scraped it across the surface of the board. 

**S**

**O**

**R**

**R**

**Y**

The noise that escaped Lex in return was somewhere between a choked laugh and a cough. “Yeah, you fuckin’ _better_ be.”

Emma’s eyebrows raised. “She’s getting cocky—” She halfway remarked before Lex cut her off. 

“—haven’t slept properly since we moved here, though your thing with the light…” This time, when she trailed off, something flickered across her face that Emma couldn’t quite name. “Hannah.” 

Emma frowned. 

This time, Paul took the lead. 

**W**

**H**

**A**

**T**

“Hannah can— she can fuckin’ _see_ you two, can’t she? The— shit— the tall guy and the short lady, that—” a disbelieving laugh broke from her, her hand moving up to her hair and practically yanking it as it dragged its way through, “—that’s _you_.”

She looked up. 

For a moment, Emma swore she wasn’t looking through them, though when she blinked, Lex’s focus was back on the board. “O-Or Paul, at least, you— Hannah said you helped her earlier, a-and Emma— _god_ — I can’t…”

She pulled her hand away, bringing it up to her face and digging her nails slightly into her cheek. 

Paul’s arms brushed against Emma’s sides as he leaned forward, craning his neck over her shoulder to better see the board. 

**B**

**R**

**E**

**A**

**T**

**H**

**E**

Emma exhaled a breathy laugh. She couldn’t help it. Tilting her head to look up at Paul, she cocked her head. “You really think she’ll listen to that? Paul, _we’re_ the reason she—”

“It’s just a lot to process,” Paul responded, voice pitching upward in defense, “remember how we were at first? We were both panicky, and we… Em, we had each other when we were figuring out the whole… I dunno, _ghosts_ thing.”

The unspoken second half of his statement was more than audible in Emma’s mind. 

“And Lex has fuck all,” she finished, earning a nod— Paul’s chin brushing up against the top of her head with the motion. 

She leaned back against him. 

If she closed her eyes… just for a second… it felt like a normal sort of evening between them, minus the sound of Lex struggling to obey what Paul had prompted her to do. 

“Y’know what—” lifting her shaking hands up above the board in surrender, Lex looked at the empty space between them, "—give me a second, I need a fucking drink.” 

A laugh escaped Emma at that— a real, loud bark of noise that she couldn’t stifle as Lex pulled away entirely, turning her back on them to swing open one of the higher kitchen cabinets. 

“...should we stop her?” He asked, concern working its way into his words.

“ _Hell_ no. If I could’ve gone into the ghost thing any other way, I would’ve done it without being completely sober.” Glancing over at Lex, watching her fiddle with what looked like a poorly made lock on the cabinet— _she’s done this a lot_ — Emma drifted closer to her. 

Her movements were still shaky from what she could see. Her lip was clamped firmly between her teeth and eyes were halfway obscured by her mess of hair that she haphazardly tried to blow out of her face as she popped the lock open. 

“ _Damn_ ,” she whistled, drifting back a little as Lex pulled a half spent bottle out of the cabinet, “it’s the good brand of cheap Hatchetfield booze.” 

“There’s a good brand?” 

“Yeah, it’s like a whole fifty cents more to get ahold of,” Emma affirmed, “snuck it in for my professor whenever I did grocery runs.” 

_Hope somebody else is looking out for him…_

She brushed the thought aside in favor of giggling at Paul’s scandalized expression, his eyes tracking Lex’s movements as she carefully put the bottle back up in the cupboard, though when she moved to shut it— he got it for her. 

She froze. 

For a moment, she looked about ready to bolt. Her hand stayed frozen on the cabinet’s dark wooden door even as Paul phased his arm through her to reach the lock, popping it back into place. 

_Oh… shit, that might’ve—_

The panic in Lex’s gaze dropped into something akin to annoyance. _“Really?”_ She hissed, turning her head to shoot a glare at an empty space beside Paul. “You’re _dead,_ just because you can’t… _can_ you drink?” 

Emma reached the board first, rattling the planchette to get Lex’s attention. 

**I**

**F**

**U**

**C**

**K**

**I**

**N**

**G**

“Emma—”

“She asked!”

**W**

**I**

**S**

**H**

Looking up toward Lex, ignoring the fact that she could _feel_ Paul’s disappointed gaze on her back, Emma grinned widely when Lex cracked a smile. A proper one. 

_Fuck yeah._

It took a freaking _age_ to spell it out, but from the way Lex exhaled a bit of a laugh, it felt like it was worth it. 

Paul’s hands were quick to settle over her own, and after a moment’s hesitation, Lex’s hands fell through theirs and onto the plastic of the planchette. “Okay, so I guess… fuck, I’m supposed… I’m supposed to ask questions?” 

**Y**

Paul agreed with an easy slide of the planchette. 

“I… what do I even fucking say?” 

“Is that a question?” Emma asked. 

“No.”

“Are you _sure_? God, this thing is like, probably the worst form of communication someone could’ve come up with for ghosts.”

“It _was_ designed by someone who was alive at one point,” Paul reasoned, shifting so he was standing next to Emma rather than reaching around her, “ _while_ they were alive.”

“Typical,” Emma returned, once again bumping her shoulder against him.

The planchette trembled under Lex’s grip. “...why are you here?” She finally asked, slowly, her eyes moving up to the pair of them. It was obvious that she was looking straight through. “I mean, I know you used to live here, but none… none of the other houses were haunted I don’t think, o-or at least, Hannah never picked up on it like she has with you two…”

Beside her, Paul moved. 

**S**

**T**

**U**

**C**

**K**

He spelled out, Emma wordlessly nodding along with the explanation. 

“Can you… this is gonna sound rude but I couldn’t give less of a shit right now— can you leave?” 

“That _did_ sound rude,” Emma agreed although Lex couldn’t hear her, before glancing down and sliding the planchette across the board. 

**Y**

Lex furrowed her brow. “So… why stay?” She questioned, suspicion dripping from her tone. “I know Hatchetfield fucking sucks, but there’re better places in it than a shitty trailer house.” 

**_Our_** _shitty trailer house._

That hadn’t panned out well. It had never been meant as a permanent home for them as far as Emma had been concerned— why _hadn’t_ they left? 

“How do we—” She started, though she was interrupted by the planchette moving. 

_Paul_. 

**H**

**A**

**N**

**N**

**A**

**H**

It was spelled out slowly. Hesitantly, almost, and after a pause, Paul looked down at Emma and shrugged. “I don’t think anyone else can see ghosts…” He mumbled, at which Emma nodded, quickly taking the piece and adding a couple of words. 

**N**

**E**

**E**

**D**

**H**

**E**

**L**

**P**

“...us or them?” 

Emma shrugged. “I mean, either— hell, _both_ would be great, but I meant them,” she clarified, feeling the planchette wobble a little under her fingers. 

_Is she shaking again?_

Across from them, Lex took a shuddering breath. “...because she can see you? That’s why you stayed?”

**Y**

This time, both of them pushed the planchette, nearly sending it toppling over the edge of the table before Lex stopped it. “Hey, watch it, we don’t need a fucking fire,” she snapped, “we barely had the cash to get here in the first place.”

Paul winced. 

**S**

**O**

**R**

**R**

Before he could finish, Lex took a step away from the board and brought a hand up to her head, tangling her fingers in her hair. “ _Fuck_ , this isn’t going to work if we need to do long questions, is it?” 

_Oh, thank fuck._

Paul hesitated, and when Emma met his eyes, he frowned. “...is that a yes or no answer?” 

“Pick one.” 

**N**

Paul settled with. 

Lex nodded in response. “I just don’t get… _shit_ , I don’t get why Hannah can see you and I just… can’t, y’know?” 

After a moment, she gave a laugh, albeit, a croaky one. “Got a fix for that? Some weird… I dunno, ghost magic or something?” 

“Do you think we wouldn’t have used it already?” Emma responded, moving to thump the planchette on the “N” another time, though when she did—

“Paul?” 

—the piece was already sliding. It moved quickly, hesitating slightly between letters, though not for very long. 

Emma’s insides turned to ice. 

Paul wasn’t touching it. 

**G**

**I**

**V**

**E**

Eyes widening, Emma pulled her hands away from the planchette as though she’d been burned. “ _Paul?_ Paul, what the fuck—”

**U**

**S**

The piece continued to move, and when Emma tried to touch it again, tried to stop it from continuing to spell out whatever it was trying to spell out— 

It jerked away from her. 

**P**

**U**

**R**

**M**

**I**

**S**

**S**

**E**

**N**

_Whatever it is, it can’t fucking spell._

Still keeping her distance from the planchette, Emma grabbed Paul’s arm tightly— fuck, what— what the hell were they supposed to do?

_Is it another ghost?_

_Is the house double fucking haunted?_

_A demon?_

The last answer made a cold chill break across her skin— a feeling that only intensified when Lex went to talk to _whatever the fuck was handling the planchette._

“Pur… Permission? Is that what you—”

**Y**

The piece shot to the letter quickly enough to make Lex gasp, and as it jittered in place, Emma _swore_ she could see something glittering on the board’s surface. Paul’s hand found hers. 

Something seemed to _pulse_ from the board— a warm, powerful sort of energy that made Emma feel as though she was standing too close to a fire— and it was only intensifying by the second—

_Lex isn’t reacting._

Her stomach dropped. 

_She can’t feel it._

Struggling to stay on the ground, Emma clung tighter to Paul’s hand. “What do we—” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Permission to _what_?” Lex asked, her voice causing both ghosts to go silent. 

The piece quivered. 

**T**

**O**

**B**

**S**

**E**

**E**

**N**

There was barely a pause between words— the planchette skittering between letters like a mad hornet before coming to a stop over the “N” and twitching there. The heat was growing stronger, though not in a comforting way— it was crackling, _alive_ in the air, making the flames of the candles wobble and swell. 

_Oh, fuck no—_

It looked like the beginning of a shitty horror movie. Every single part of it— Lex’s troubled expression framed by firelight, the board, the shadows, and try as Emma might to think of something to say to stop what she _knew_ was going to be bad— 

Lex finished the scene by saying a line that fit right in with the horror show playing out before them.

“You know what?” She asked the empty air, straightening herself out, “fine. Show yourself.”

For a moment, there was silence. 

And then the world exploded. 

Light _erupted_ from the board’s letters, a brilliant, piercing _white_ that made Emma snap her eyes shut and cry out, yanking Paul close to herself on impulse, and from the shout that escaped Lex, she _was_ seeing this, _feeling_ it— feeling the heat that fizzled and crackled through the air. Forcing her eyes open, she watched the flames of the tealights burn high— the flames shooting up in the air to a level that _flooded_ the small kitchen and caused Lex to stumble away, crashing into the counter, and then, amid the chaos—

Paul clutched her tight. 

Something on the planchette _bubbled—_ that offputting, reddish stain starting to glimmer with that same, blinding white

“It’s going to be okay—” 

She almost believed him. 

_Almost._

But then something slammed into the kitchen table with enough force to make Lex cry out and buckle on the floor— a heavy, dark shape that unfurled—

_Wings?_

—on the dining room table, positioned over the board. A pair of piercing, blue-grey eyes met her own. 

The pupils were slits, though Emma paid that no mind, because they _saw_ her. 

She didn’t know how she knew— but _damn it_ — she’d swear on her own grave that they had looked _at_ her, not through her like Lex had been doing. 

A set of sharp teeth arranged themselves in a grin, and as they did, more and more features of a face faded into focus— a mess of deep brown curls, a pierced ear, a pair of crimson horns that curled up from a young-looking face—

_Wait. Horns._

Emma had less than a second to process that before the _thing_ turned, those predatory, glittering eyes settling on the teenager crumpled on the kitchen floor. 

And then there was a voice. A rumbling, jovial sort of thing that sounded out into the air. 

“Oh, this’ll be _interesting,”_ It— _he_ — purred out, sitting cross-legged on a table that seemed far too rickety to hold him up. The heavy jacket he wore reflected the candlelight in smattering, shining little spots, and when he grinned, showing off a dizzying array of fangs in a too-straight, clearly forced thing, a tail coiled to sit in his lap. 

“Nice t’see ya again, Foster. Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...you know, the candles might've been a bit much, there, Alexandra...


	7. don't you want a pal?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Yes I do, Yes I do!)

Lex couldn’t breathe. 

There was a scream caught in her throat— the sound swelling inside her like a caged bird trying desperately to break free, though try as she might to give in and let it out— the only noise that escaped her was a choked, strangled whimper. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

The oxygen in the room seemed to have disappeared entirely— leaving her in a shaky, quivering mess on the kitchen floor. Her palms were covered in sweat, and as she tried to coax her tongue into motion, tried to do anything other than stare at the scene before her with wide eyes and her heart thumping in her ears, the only thing she managed to do was tremble. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t _fucking_ _breathe._

And she wasn’t alone. 

Gasping for air, finally managing to force her body to stand— her fingernails scraping heavily across the countertop in a way that made the polish barely clinging to them chip and scratch— Lex kept her gaze trained on a pair of bright, amused looking eyes.

Amused looking eyes belonging to none other than Ethan  _ fucking  _ Green. 

Ethan— the asshole from her shop class who was sometimes funny, mostly annoying, wore a leather jacket, always had bruised knuckles, was a loudmouth— 

Ethan, who was  _ one year dead.  _

She remembered the papers, headlines about a tragic stabbing and shopper mania shooting through her head, and as he grinned down at her, lips drawing back to show off a wicked set of fangs, all she could think was one thing.

_ This can’t be happening.  _

Her legs wobbled under her. Trying not to fall over, bracing heavily on the counter, Lex took a shaky step away from the scene unfolding before her. When she found her voice, it barely passed a scratchy whisper in volume. “N-No...”

Again. Louder. More certain. “No, this— is  _ not _ fucking happening, you’re not—”

“Really?” He interrupted with a tilt of his head. “Ya could’a fooled me.” 

When he leaned forward, it took all of Lex’s self-control to keep from attempting to move away from him. The candlelight made everything so much  _ worse _ , and with every new detail that presented itself, lilt from beneath by the flames, Lex found her already racing heart rate climbing upward. 

“—you fucking  _ died!”  _ She snapped out. 

It was the stupidest, most cliche fucking thing to say, but it was what had spilled from her mouth before she’d even managed to think it through. 

Every part of him looked different than she remembered,  _ sharper,  _ the flickering lights that grew brighter by the second highlighting the underside of his jaw and casting shadows across his face that that made his eyes, his  _ horns _ , his  _ fucking teeth _ , seem to glitter. 

A scoff pulled from his throat. Those piercing eyes rolled in a way that seemed almost condescending. “Jesus,” he grumbled, “ _ yeah _ , thanks, I noticed. Was I s’posed to figure that out before or after you told me?”

Lex didn’t move an inch when he shifted his weight and peered over his shoulder, though her grip on the counter tightened at the sight of what looked to be huge, neatly folded  _ wings _ shuffling on his back. “And they ain’t alive either, but from what I overheard, you didn’t bother giving them an update.”

Clicking his tongue, the—  _ he’s not here, he can’t be, he’s not a _ — demon turned his attention back to her and shot her a smug smirk. “Nice to know that you care enough t’keep me filled in.”

Lex  _ bristled _ . 

_ What the fuck does he mean, “they”? _

_ There’s nobody else— _

A pair shapes hovering—  _ literally fucking hovering _ — just behind him caught her eye. 

She didn’t want to look. 

She didn’t get much choice. It was more a reflex than anything else when she looked behind Ethan’s shoulder, and by then, there was no way she could just  _ unsee _ what was there.

If she had any colour left in her face, she knew it was gone, now. Her body felt like it was being drained, her blood running completely cold in her veins, her heart thumping erratically to a point where she wouldn’t have been surprised if it just stopped altogether. 

Her nails dug into the counter. 

“...you can see us now, can’t you?” The taller of the two shapes asked in a voice that sounded astonishingly nervous. 

_ Paul. _

His face matched the picture paired with the article damn near perfectly, though there was something different about him now, something weary and worn and  _ tired _ above all else. 

That was definitely Paul Matthews. Paul Matthews who was  _ dead _ . Standing beside Emma—  _ Emma _ , with her pant legs soaked through with blood and bits of bone sticking out from her flesh—  _ who was also fucking dead.  _

She looked more the part of a corpse— blood was  _ caked _ across her front, splattered up along her torso in a mess of red smears and stains. 

“Yeah, she sees us, Paul,  _ look _ at her—”

She wobbled on her feet. 

“I’m looking, Em.” 

When they drifted closer, Lex stepped back— her hip pressing  _ hard _ against the counter, though she barely felt it. Her whole body was  _ freezing _ as though she’d just been doused in ice water, and from the way she was shaking, it almost looked like it. Cold sweat was dripping down her back. 

“D-Don’t— don’t be scared, you— your name is Lex, right?” 

Paul was speaking now, again, that nervous, almost concerned lilt in his voice the only thing that kept Lex in place. 

“The fuck does it m-matter?” She hissed through her teeth, “I don’t—  _ fuck _ — what the hell is going on?” One of her hands blindly began to feel around behind her, searching for the knife block—

_ The hell kind of good is that going to do? _

_ They’re already dead. _

Her heart sank. 

_ You can’t defend yourself against ghosts. _

_ You also can’t defend yourself against… whatever he is. _

Her thoughts were bordering on delirious. Everything was happening so fast— happening in a mess of images and feelings that made her feel sick to her stomach. 

Emma’s voice cut through the haze, causing her gaze to become focused on the ghost’s face... “We’re not with him,” she clarified, “we just wanted to talk, I have  _ no  _ idea what the  _ fuck  _ he’s here for.”

“Rude,” Ethan huffed— the noise coming out in a sound close enough to a growl to make Lex’s skin crawl, “look, whatever you guys had going on was cool and all, but  _ she’s _ the one playing ouija by herself with an assload of candles— and  _ fucking blood on the board.” _

Stretching himself out, he gave a low sort of chuckle, the tail curled up in his lap flicking slightly. “I mean,  _ gee-zus _ , if you weren’t trying to summon a demon, you must be some kind’a idiot.”

_ A demon.  _

Hearing him say it made Lex’s heart stop dead for a beat or two. 

_ He’s an actual fucking demon. _

“I—  _ no _ —” She managed to sputter in response, stiffening as Ethan swung his lanky legs off the table, “—I didn’t want you to just show the hell up here, I don’t even know—”

His face lit up. “Wait, wait, wait.” Standing up—  _ fuck, he’s still tall as anything _ — the demon before her raised his eyebrows, that teasing, sharp-toothed grin only seeming to stretch wider by the second. “So you have  _ no _ idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into?”

From the laugh that shot from him, it must’ve shown on her face. 

_ Fuck. _

Gritting her teeth to keep from allowing any sounds of fear from escaping her, Lex squared her shoulders as those piercing eyes drilled into her own. 

“I didn’t  _ ask  _ you to show up.” Her voice betrayed her, coming out in a shaky, strained wobble.  _ Shit _ . “I— I wasn’t even  _ talking _ to yo—”

“You opened the door,” Ethan cut her off, lifting his chin somewhat smugly, “all I had t’do was walk through it.” 

_ The door.  _

Lex’s shoulders tensed— one of Hannah’s mumblings ricochetting through the back of her mind like a stray bullet. 

_ Doors open both ways.  _

_ Shit. _

She should’ve listened— whenever Hannah found a phrase that repeated that fucking often, it was always one that was important— though how the  _ fuck _ was she supposed to have prepared for  _ this?  _ There was a demon standing in their kitchen, there were a pair of  _ ghosts _ behind him, and to top it all right the fuck off, the cut on her hand still stung like a bitch. 

Her legs wobbled. 

Her stomach twisted. 

Eyes wide, focused on Ethan—  _ is it even him anymore? _ — Lex set her jaw. “What do you want, Green?” 

“Geez, you’re like— you weren’t fuckin’ joking, were you?” Chuckling dryly and shaking his head, Ethan took a step closer to her. The pointed, red end of his tail skittered back and forth behind him, the sound alone enough to make Lex wince minutely. “You’ve got the question backwards, there, my dear Lexi.” 

He paused. His eyes flicked over her. 

_ Does he ever fucking blink? _

“That’s your name, right?”

Lex’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck’s it matter?”

“Well, figured it’s only fair— you seem t’remember who I was, so…” Trailing off, shrugging— wings bobbing with the motion— Ethan tilted his head. “Am I just gonna have to call ya Foster?” 

_ This is a bad idea.  _

There was a voice in her head  _ screaming _ at her to keep her mouth shut— growing louder with each and every second spent in silence— but for some damn reason—

“Lex.”

—she answered his question. 

A gleam lit his eyes— one that didn’t come from the flames of the candles— one that seemed to appear out of nowhere. His already thin pupils seemed to narrow even further. Lex swore up and down his teeth looked sharper. 

“Right.  _ Lex.  _ Here’s how this is going to go. See, you’ve got this all fuckin’ wrong.  _ I _ should be asking what  _ you  _ want.” 

Lex blinked. 

_ Please let this be a fucking dream.  _

It had to be a nightmare— a nightmare that had gone off the fucking rails and turned into some fever dream that would fuck with her when she woke up, that was it, just a fucking  _ stupid dream— _

He was still there when she opened her eyes. Still there with that too-toothy smile and those wicked claws extended her way. 

“Well?” He started, “you in? Or—”

“Hey, quick question, what the  _ fuck  _ is going on?” Emma interrupted. 

_ Shit, right, there’s still two fucking ghosts— _

Looking over Ethan’s shoulder, Lex watched as Emma darted through the air to stand— to  _ float—  _ between her and the demon with her shoulders squared. 

“Emma?” Paul asked, voice wobbling in a way that made him seem so much more  _ human _ . 

When he moved, it was a proper step— not gliding like Emma had as he stepped toward the scene playing out with a look in his eyes that looked genuinely  _ worried. _

Emma ignored him. 

“I don’t know who the  _ fuck  _ you are—”

“Ethan,” the demon supplied. 

“Ethan,” she corrected without missing a beat “right, cool, now I can use your  _ name _ when I ask you to  _ leave _ .” 

Behind him, the candles flared up— a bright, orange glow highlighting his silhouette through Emma’s form. 

_ Through.  _

Lex paled slightly. 

_ Right.  _

_ Because she’s a fucking ghost. _

A fucking ghost standing between her and a fucking  _ demon _ . 

A demon that was laughing. “Oh, you can’t kick me out— Emma, yeah?” 

He didn’t give the ghost space to respond before cutting her off, stepping closer to her. The silhouette of his wings braced her on either side— flared out to a point where they brushed across the walls, the thin, red membranes turning the candlelight crimson. “You can’t do that. See, you’re not th’ one who opened up the gate.”

Emma held her ground. “I’m not scared— the fuck are you gonna do, kill me again?” There was a challenging lilt in her voice. 

The wings on either side of her bobbed in a shrug before folding. “Maybe.”

_ Can he do that? _

It was crazy. The whole situation was completely insane, but as Lex felt the throbbing, dull pain in her palm and curled her fingers into fists at her sides, the pain was a constant reminder of how real this had all become in a matter of seconds. 

A cold chill washed over her left side. 

Paul was next to her. “Are you okay?” 

_ Is he fucking serious? _

Unable to process the situation— brain completely and utterly frazzled— she met Paul’s eyes and hissed out the first sentence that came to her mind. “What do you think?” She bit.

He flinched. For a moment, he looked genuinely apologetic. Human. It was easier to see on him— that picture of him standing on their doorstep flashing through Lex’s mind, that picture of him with a nervous smile and a gentle, shy demeanor— and although his eyes seemed a little milky, the pupils dull of life, it was obvious that he  _ had  _ been human once. 

“...sorry, that was a stupid question, wasn’t it?” 

_ So was that one.  _

Lex nodded, biting down hard on her cheek to keep from spitting venom at him. Her hands shook as she used one of them to push her hair out of her face, the other struggling to brace her on the counter. 

Ethan and Emma were arguing, only bits of it reaching her ears above the sound of her heartbeat. 

“Wait your damn turn, I don’t know what the hell you’ve got planned, but it can’t be a good thing, so—”

“You don’t even  _ know _ her!”

“Neither do you!”

“Uh, actually, we had a class together— jot that shit down!” 

As he spoke, Lex could hear Ethan’s voice turning to more of a deep, husky sort of  _ growl _ — the words sounding animal as they filled the air. 

“You know what?” He snarled, any of that false cheer that had dripped from his words completely vacant, “I’m not here to talk to you. Out of my fucking way. Last warning.” 

“What’re you gonna do—”

Ethan interrupted her by flicking his wrist. 

Energy  _ crackled  _ through the air, and in an instant, Emma’s whole body jerked unnaturally. It looked almost as though she’d been swatted out of the way by an enormous, invisible hand— her whole body bending in a way that was damn near unnatural before—

“EMMA!” 

Paul’s cry paled in comparison to the sound of Emma’s body connecting with the wall— hitting  _ hard _ rather than passing through. 

The flames grew higher When Lex looked up— looked at Paul clutching Emma and helping her to her feet, croaking out reassurances and empty promises—

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

—she turned her attention back to Ethan. Something in her chest pulled taut when she realized that he was fucking  _ grinning _ , those catlike pupils not even bothering to gaze upon the damage he’d just caused, no, they were locked on  _ her _ with an eerie clarity. “Now, to business...” 

She wasn’t ready for him to get closer. The smell of smoke filled her nose— not cigarette smoke, but campfire smoke, thick and heavy enough to make her cough. 

His face was inches from her own— close enough that she could see that he was leaning down to be on her level. “What do you want, Lex?”

* * *

He wasn’t expecting her to shove him in the chest. 

To be fair, she hadn’t done literally  _ anything _ that he’d been expecting her to do— hadn’t screamed, hadn’t asked him to do her dark bidding, hadn’t even looked like she’d  _ meant _ to summon him— but pushing him away without an ounce of hesitation wasn’t even in the fucking  _ ballpark _ of things he’d thought she’d do. 

Even though he barely stumbled, he couldn’t stop a startled expression from flitting across his face as he flared his wings to balance himself out. 

“Some fucking  _ space _ would be nice, Green.”

It took all of his self-control not to snarl at her in response. His lips twitched— threatening to pull back— though he managed to force it into a disgruntled, too-tight smile. “Just had to  _ ask _ ,” he grumbled in return, unable to keep his smile from slipping momentarily. 

_ Fuck. Be polite.  _

Any  _ semblance _ of politeness had  _ probably  _ been thrown out the window when he’d thrown that fucking ghost against the wall, but it was worth a shot, right? Moving back, bracing his hip against the shitty table he’d appeared on earlier, he put his hands up defensively. “Though if ya  _ wanted _ t’push me around, I ain’t gonna say no.” 

When he quirked a brow, Lex scowled in response. 

There was fear in it. She was doing a damn good job hiding it, but the candlelight more than easily illuminated the look in her eyes— that  _ panic  _ brimming just under her sour expression. It was almost cute, how hard she was trying. Like she thought she could _actually_ intimidate him—  _ him _ . 

It was laughable. 

Smirking, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket, more than a little bit aware of the fact that Lex was tracking his every move closely. “C’mon. Aren’t you gonna say something?” He tried, teasing undertone weaving through his words. He couldn’t help it. She looked so  _ confused _ by the whole thing— her gaze shifting from his to the ghosts at his right. 

He chanced a glance over at them. 

Emma was still on the ground. She was being helped up, sure, but when she met his eyes again… that defiance that had shone so brightly before seemed to have vanished, replaced by an angry sort of terror. 

_ Ha.  _

Tail flicking once before curling neatly around one of his legs, Ethan took another minute to look, watching as the tall one—  _ Paul, right? _ — tried to help her to her feet. 

“Oh, relax,” he huffed out toward the two of them, “you’re already  _ dead _ , shit ain’t gonna get any worse.” 

_ Not for you two, anyway.  _

_ Damn, _ ghosts didn’t know how fucking easy they had it. 

The only responses he got were nonverbal— Paul’s shoulders tensing, his grip on Emma tightening, Emma’s glare turning harsher— but they were enough to make him roll his eyes and turn his attention back to Lex. 

She was doing a good job at being unreadable, he’d give her that.  _ Yeah _ , the fear was painfully visible on her face— but hey, at least she wasn’t shaking too badly anymore. He’d take it as a victory.

“So, what’s your deal, Foster?” He asked, keeping his voice light, “Money?”

A sound that could’ve been a laugh escaped her. “Excuse me?” 

Ethan shrugged. “Well, I dunno, this place ain’t exactly great, if ya don’t mind me sayin’ so,” he explained, gesturing at the cramped space for emphasis, “sorta… small.” 

Her eyes narrowed.

_ Shit. _

_ This isn’t going well.  _

“What the fuck are you trying to—”

“Or not!” Trying to backpedal, he gave a soft laugh in an attempt to play off the comment—  _ touchy subject. _ He might’ve been a demon, but even he knew when it was a good time to change tactics, and from the look on Lex’s face, it was clear that that time was  _ right the fuck now.  _

“I mean, money’s sort of a bitch of a thing to ask a demon for anyway, seeing as we like… can’t just—” he snapped his fingers, claws making the noise turn sharp. Lex flinched. 

He pretended not to notice. “—make it happen. Lotta loopholes an’ shit involved.” As he spoke, he found himself stepping just a little closer to where Lex stood, keeping his head tilted. “So  _ that’s  _ out—” 

“Hold on,” Lex started, causing him to perk up. 

“It’s  _ not _ out?” 

“I—  _ no _ —” 

Ethan flicked his tail as Lex struggled to find her words. “Take your time,” he prompted, an easy smile on his face, “or just do some charades or somethin’, might speed this up—”

One of her hands slammed down on the counter behind her with a dull crack of noise that cut Ethan short mid-sentence. “Why?” 

A second of silence passed between them. 

Ethan broke it with a snicker. 

“Uh,” he began, lowering his head and wobbling it back and forth condescendingly, inches from her own, “that’s sort of the whole deal. You ask me to do something— like murder or whatever, that’s a common one— and then…” when he trailed off, he gave an easy shrug. “I do it for you.”

_ Like I’ve been explaining this whole goddamn time.  _

Biting down on his tongue to keep from spitting the sentence at her—  _ be polite, be charming,  _ **_then_ ** _ go off the fucking rails, stick to the plan _ — Ethan settled for baring his teeth in what he hoped looked like a grin. 

From the way she flinched, it hadn’t worked. 

_ Fuck.  _

Why wasn’t she saying anything? 

That incredulous, disbelieving expression was still written across her face, and although she was still tense, the fear and shock seemed to be wearing off, which was good. Whoop-de-freakin’-doo, she wasn’t  _ that _ scared anymore—  _ why the hell isn’t she saying anything? _

With a sigh, he ran his claws through his hair, digging them into his scalp. “Jesus, you’re making this  _ real  _ difficult, you know that?”

Lex bristled. Despite the fact she didn’t have fangs, her lips pulled back in a halfway snarl when she spoke, standing up on her toes in a futile attempt to match his height. “You know what— you wanna know what I want? Fine.” Her voice was quivering, though, from rage or fear, it was hard to tell. “I want you to fucking  _ leave _ .” 

From on the ground, Emma gave a wheezy laugh. “Same.”

It was quiet.

Ethan heard it.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Well, that’s like, the  _ one  _ thing I actually  _ can’t  _ do, so…” Drawing out the word, rapping his claws on the table behind him, Ethan gave a halfhearted shrug. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”

Lex’s brows drew together. 

When she inhaled, it was slow. Shaky. 

_ Shit, she’s pissed.  _

“So you mean you just invited yourself into my fucking kitchen—”

“ _ You _ invited  _ me! _ ” He sputtered, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “it’s like you ain’t even listening—  _ you’re _ the one who was playing ouija by herself! I mean, shit, Lex, what did you  _ think _ was gonna happen?” Laughing, the sound coming out a little harsher than he meant, Ethan flung his arms out at his sides. “ _ Nothing?” _

As much as it was stupid, from the way she reacted— her expression twisting and her shoulders drawing up to his ears— it had to be true. She actually hadn’t meant to… 

A smirk settled on his face. 

_ Christ _ , what a stupid move. 

“ _ No _ ,” she finally hissed, still standing— frozen in place— across from him, “I was  _ trying  _ to have a conversation with those two!  _ Not _ trying to summon some dead  _ fuck  _ from my old shop class, I— I didn’t—” 

“ _Actually_ ,” Ethan interjected, “you _did_ — and you don’t need a fuckin’ blood sacrifice to talk to ghosts!”

“I didn’t give you a—”

She stopped. Her mouth was still open as though she was going to say more, hell, it looked like she was trying to, but when she inhaled, only one word escaped her. 

“— _ shit. _ ”

Ethan’s teeth dug a little harder into the inside of his cheek, though a bit of a laugh still managed to slip past his lips, coming out as a muffled giggle. 

He couldn’t help it.

“Hey, ain’t all bad— there’s gotta be some favor I can do you,” he wheedled, returning his hands to his pockets against the urge to clap her on the shoulder. There had to be  _ something _ . Everyone had something— it was one of the few things he’d learned since he’d been woken up by a blinding white after the worst, and  _ last _ pain of his life— everyone had  _ some fucking thing _ that drove them. Something they wanted— a goal. 

Fuck, Wiley had explained it better. 

Pushing the thoughts down in favor of rocking back on his heels, Ethan kept his gaze trained on his shoes, trying to seem disinterested.  _ Play it cool. _

“So what is it?” He settled with, false cheer dripping from his words. “Love?”

“I don’t need you prodding around in my fucking love li—”

_ Not that. _

Not bothering to let her finish, he switched tactics. 

“Or power?” 

_ She definitely doesn’t have that. _

After all, nobody working at some shitty toy store in  _ Hatchetfield _ of all fucking places had even an ounce of power, and Lex Foster couldn’t be an exception. 

“I can make you the most powerful person the world has ever—”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

_ Oh, that was sarcastic.  _

Did she  _ have _ to be so defiant? 

It wasn’t like he remembered much of her from when he’d been alive— hell, he was lucky she was still wearing her work vest and nametag— but from what he  _ did _ know about Lex Foster… the answer to that question was yes. 

Narrowing his eyes and folding his wings tighter against his back, Ethan rolled his shoulders. 

“An escape, maybe?” He tried, scuffing his sneaker against the worn-out floor. 

Lex hesitated. There wasn’t a snippy response this time— just a harsh, angry exhale. 

_ Oh, bingo. _

Looking up, struggling to keep himself from smiling too widely and giving the game away right off the bat, he kept quiet— kept his head tilted and his hands in his pockets— as her brows creased together. 

Her eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight. “I don’t want  _ anything  _ from  _ you! _ ”

“Really?” His wings shuffled, stretching out slightly. The heat of the candles against his back grew stronger, though he paid it no mind, too fixated Lex to even register the flames reaching higher behind him. His shadow fell over her. She looked so  _ small _ — so painfully human under his winged silhouette— that it made his grin turn a little darker. Sharper. 

“Because I think you might—”

The noise of a door opening behind him caused him to stop short, his eyebrows creeping upward on his forehead. 

A tiny, quavering voice reached his ears. 

“...Lexie?”

In the moments before he tried to turn around, a new expression flashed across Lex’s face. 

Terror.

Genuine, complete  _ terror  _ that made her features drain of color and her angry expression change to one of dawning dread before his eyes in a matter of seconds, though before he had a chance to comment—

“...liar.”

_ Who the hell is that? _

—she sprang forward. 

_ Past _ him.

Past him in a flurry of motion that caught him completely off guard and caused his wings to flare open instantaneously.

“Hey—  _ hey! _ ” He started, turning, gaze flicking dismissively over the shapes of Paul and Emma— Jesus _ , they’re still on the ground? _ — to follow Lex’s movements as she stood between him and…

Oh. 

Although the hallway was dark, it was easy enough to pick out the shape of a trembling child standing a few inches before Lex. 

“Hannah,” Lex started, “st-stay where you are, I’m just—”

_ “Liar!” _ The girl—  _ Hannah’s _ — volume spiked without warning. 

Although Ethan couldn’t see much of her around Lex, he  _ could  _ see that was clutching tight to the ugliest fucking stuffed animal he’d ever seen, where she stood, eyes wide, sweat coating her forehead with a damp sort of sheen. 

When he met her eyes, she clutched the stuffy tighter. 

Ethan blinked. 

_ What? _

No. That was wrong. After all, she shouldn’t have been able to see him. 

_ Probably sensed it.  _

Weren’t kids more in tune with this shit?  _ Fuck _ , Wiley had mentioned that, at some point, right? She was probably sensing his energy or some crap like that.. right?

Did it make sense? No.

But Ethan didn’t care. After all, nothing had made sense for the past  _ year _ , why the hell would it start making sense  _ now?  _ Being dead was just one headache after the other. This one was no different. 

Baring his teeth and taking a sauntering, casual step forward, he cocked his head. “Who’s the kid?” 

“Don’t touch her,” Lex snapped, all but forcing Hannah behind her, “don’t you fucking  _ dare  _ touch her, or I swear to god, I’ll kill you again— don’t you  _ fucking touch her _ .”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan watched the two ghosts rise off the floor. 

_ Shit. _

Instinctively, he put his hands up. “You don’t gotta get so defensive! I just wanna know why she’s callin’ you a—”

“ _ Liar _ ,” Hannah finished for him, her voice coming out in a panicky whine, her eyes tracking from him to, Lex, then over to Paul and Emma—

_ Wait— _

His eyebrows raised. 

_ That doesn’t make sense.  _

He stepped forward. 

_ She shouldn’t be able to— _

His thoughts ground to a halt when Hannah gave a guttural  _ wail _ . 

“You  _ PROMISED!” _ She shrilled, “bad board, promised, bad blood— _ ” _ inhaling raggedly, the child grabbed ahold of Lex’s arm, shifting the stuffed spider to one hand, “— _ not him!” _ Her voice threatened to break as she spoke, tugging on Lex as hard as her shaking body would allow. 

“Hannah, hey— j-just go back to bed—”

“Opened the door!”

“—I know, I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Told you!” 

Down the hall, a light flickered. 

Energy was rippling through the air, though when Ethan tried to pinpoint where it was coming from, the only thing he earned was a prickling sensation that all but consumed his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Paul rising off the floor. 

“Not safe! Didn’t listen— now  _ Green _ !” 

Ethan froze. 

His hackles rose. Involuntarily, his wings began to unfurl with a small rustling noise to a point where the edges of them brushed against either wall, the candlelight filtering through the thin red membrane enough to bathe the room in crimson. 

“What did you just say?” He choked out, stepping closer still only for Lex to whip her head around and shoot him a glare. 

“Don’t fucking talk to her!” She snarled, digging her nails into Hannah’s shirt. “Stay RIGHT where you are, I swear—”

_ Oh, fuck off with your threats.  _

Not caring that he was showing more of his teeth than he needed, barely even noticing it, Ethan squared his shoulders and lowered his head. “She shouldn’t be able to see me!” He bit back, “hell, she probably can’t even hear me— can you hear me?”

The second his attention turned to Hannah, the flickering down the hall grew more intense. He was vaguely aware of Emma saying something, vaguely aware of Paul responding, of the flickering growing more and more intense— though he pushed it all away when Hannah’s eyes met his own. 

They didn’t look through him. 

He didn’t get to register that fact before the sound of keys jingling in the door caused Hannah to freeze before starting to hyperventilate, yanking harder on Lex’s sleeve by the second to a point where Ethan wouldn’t have been surprised if the fabric had torn under her hands.

“Lexi,” she moaned, “Lexie  _ please _ —”

Lex seemed numb to it. 

Emma’s voice cut through his mind above the sounds of chaos breaking loose around him. 

“Shit, why’s she back— she shouldn’t be back yet— she shouldn’t—  _ fuck _ — Paul, can you blow out the porchlight?”

“I don’t know, I don’t— I didn’t even  _ mean _ to do the last one, I just got so  _ angry _ .”

The doorknob rattled.

“Well  _ get angry again!” _ Lex snapped at him, shocking him into silence. 

“Hannah, go— go to bed,  _ hide _ , you need to—”

From the look of it, Hannah wasn’t going to be doing  _ anything _ . Her shoulders were shaking— whole body seeming to convulse under the force of it. “ _ LIAR!” _ She choked out again, sinking to her knees and still clinging to Lex’s arm, “liar— LIAR—  _ wrong deal, not him, not— _ ”

“Hannah,  _ please _ —”

The sound of something thumping against the front door made Ethan flinch. 

_ Jesus _ . Whoever was out there was either piss drunk or had never seen a door before— and from the muffled cursing, he was going to go with the first option. 

_ That ain’t good…  _

Stepping back toward the table, folding his arms against his chest, Ethan crossed his legs at the ankles and braced his hip against the countertop, settling to watch the scene. 

Lex looked up. 

The candles flared brighter. 

The sound of keys jingling grew a little more contained, and when Lex met his eyes, he offered a grin in response. 

“Tick tock,” he murmured, voice taking on a dark tone. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They ain’t gonna protect you forever.” Jutting his chin in the direction of Paul and Emma— still tuning out their conversation and Hannah’s nonsensical words—  _ seriously, what the fuck is her deal? _ — he scuffed the heel of his shoe against the floor. “I can make this all stop if you let me.” 

“Wrong deal, bad blood, not him— _ NOT HIM—” _

The words were easy to tune out, blending in with the sounds of the two ghosts trying to get the light to blow in a mess of tangled syllables that faded into white noise. 

Had his heart been beating instead of just taking up space in his chest, he might’ve heard it speeding up. 

_ C’mon… _

His tail whipped across the floor, skittering up against the scant furniture. 

_ C’mon, c’mon…  _

“He’s not gonna be able to do it,” he added when Lex turned her back on him, trying to get Hannah up off the ground, “blow out the porchlight, I mean.” Standing up at his full height and stretching almost lazily, the demon huffed out a laugh through his teeth and raised a hand to scratch behind one of his horns. 

Lex didn’t turn. Her attention stayed fixed on the sniffling, shaking child. 

Ethan stepped closer. “You’ve got about twelve seconds before she opens that door.” 

“Shut up, Green— can you just  _ shut up _ —”

“They aren’t going to be able to stop her, and she’s been drinking, hasn’t she?”

They were obvious details— they were scared of her, she was completely smashed, Paul and Emma were panicking— though another detail hit him upside the head when Hannah looked up. 

A detail in the form of a harsh, red welt.

His eyes glittered. “I can keep  _ her  _ safe.” 

It took all of his self-control to keep from giggling when Lex turned her head to face him— moving damn near comedically slowly, like she was facing down a wild animal that would pounce without hesitation. 

Their eyes met. 

“Lex,  _ no _ ,” Paul’s voice broke into the conversation, “I know you just met us, but we— I’m trying— Emma and I— we can  _ help _ —” He sputtered, pulling Lex’s attention away from him. 

A growl caught in Ethan’s throat. He turned it into a bark of laughter. “Yeah?” He asked, turning to face Paul with his hackles rising, “What the fuck are you gonna do? You’ll run out of lightbulbs eventually, and then what? Gonna haunt her away, s’that it? You’ve got five fucking seconds to get your shit together.” 

As he spoke, his wings flared open, lips tugging away from his fangs in a twisted sort of sneer. “You  _ can’t _ help them.”

Paul withered under his gaze. 

_ Ha.  _

Turning back to face Lex, Ethan lowered his head and tried his best to soften his expression, eyes still practically glowing in the dark. “I can protect  _ you _ .” 

Something in Lex’s expression shifted. 

There was still mistrust written across her face— speckled through her body language, her tense shoulders, and her tight features— but it was fading. 

Hannah’s sobbing went ignored. 

“You can help?”

_ Yes. _

“Just say the word,” he affirmed. His voice was soft. Inviting. A complete fucking lie— not that she needed to know. In a smooth motion, he offered his gloved hand and his best smile. 

_ Trust me. _

_ What’s the worst that could happen? _

She raised her hand. The motion was slow. 

Ethan wiggled his claws impatiently. “Three seconds, Foster,” he prompted, keeping his hand frozen in place as hers came closer, close enough that he could practically  _ feel _ her life force seeping off it. 

_ Fuck, come on, come on— _

She hesitated. “Don’t hurt us,” she finally demanded— her tone sharp. “If I agree, you’re not gonna kill  _ anyone _ — y-you’re not going to fucking  _ touch _ her—”

“Lex, I really don’t think—” Paul started, though Ethan tuned him out. 

From Lex’s lack of reaction to his voice, it was clear that she was doing the same. 

“Clear?”

“Cross my heart,” he promised, pupils thinning into slits when Lex moved her hand closer. Closer.  _ Closer.  _

His tail flicked, curling tightly around his ankle.

There was a moment where their eyes locked. 

Where he could almost hear her thoughts.

Where the faded sounds of Hannah crying disappeared entirely— though if it was the child quieting herself or something else, Ethan didn’t know. 

When he finished the saying, his voice came out in a husky whisper.

“Hope to die.”

Silence fell again. 

Silence that Lex broke with a shaky word. 

“Deal.” 

Her fingers wrapped around his hand. 

Warmth  _ flooded  _ through his arm, and when he pumped his arm to finish the shake, a sickly green glow lit the spaces between his and Lex’s fingers. There was a chill winding down his spine— though not a cold chill, no, something that tingled in an almost pleasant fashion and caused him to flash his teeth in a leering sort of smile.

The candles behind him blew out. 

He scarcely noticed. 

His eyes gleamed in the green light, claws digging lightly into the back of Lex’s hand. 

“Deal,” he echoed, unable to keep his unnaturally wide grin off his face. 

It only widened at the shrill sound of a scream tearing through the air from the other side of the door. 


	8. the finer points can('t) wait

The scream was enough to make her jerk her hand away from his and stumble to her feet from where she’d been crouching. 

_ Shit, no, no no no— _

Her heart was racing, racing to a point where Lex thought it might burst from her chest with every frenzied beat— and it showed no signs of calming down. She could still  _ feel _ the warmth left by his fingers even after she tugged her hand away from his, sizzling there on her palm in a way that made her skin crawl— though she barely had time to register any of that.

“What the hell did you  _ do?”  _ She snapped, standing as tall as she could between him and Hannah despite the fact that she was still a good amount shorter than him—  _ fucking giraffe ass demon _ — “I told you  _ not _ to—”

Her words died on her tongue when he stepped closer to her. The wings on his back were twitching, unfurling to a point where the edges of them pressed lightly against the sides of the hallway. “Oh,  _ relax _ , Lexie” Ethan huffed, the words coupled with a condescending eye-roll that made Lex’s insides twist, “you said I couldn’t  _ kill _ her, so she’s  _ fine _ . Just a little burn on her hand, nothin’ too bad— if that kills her, it was her fuckin’ time to go, okay?”

She couldn’t help but track the movements of his hands when he talked. His claws gleamed in the dark, cutting through the relative blackness with ease. “Just made her drop her keys. She’ll probably give up in a minute, seein’ as they fell under the porch. That’ll buy you… tonight, maybe tomorrow.”

There was a casual tone in his voice. God. It was like he’d done this sort of shit before, and as he inspected his claws somewhat idly, Lex couldn’t help but think that was the case—  _ what the hell else could he have been doing for the past year? _

In the quiet, she could hear the noise of her mother shuffling on the other side of the door. It was a sound she’d gotten used to— the sound of drunken stumbling and angry cursing— though it sounded a bit more frantic than most nights and didn’t last nearly as long as normal. The footsteps were stumbling. Shuffling. Slow. 

And then they were gone. 

In a way, that was worse. 

Not that Lex was concerned about where the bitch had stumbled off to— as much as she didn’t want her like,  _ dead _ dead, she really couldn’t give less of a shit where she’d gone— she was more concerned about the demon leering down at her with a crooked smirk. 

A beat of silence passed between them before he snorted. 

“Uh, this is the part where you say ‘thank you’,” he instructed, tilting his head and stepping closer, tail dragging across the wall, “y’know, seeing as I  _ did _ kinda just save your ass—”

“What’s your deal, Green?” The words pulled from her before she could stop them, not that she wanted to, and when she saw him trying to finish his thought, she was quick to square her shoulders and beat him to it. “You’ve  _ done _ your good deed, alright? Now do me a favor and go back to whatever circle of hell you escaped from.” 

Though it was only for a split second, Lex swore she heard a growl— a threatening, animalistic thing— as she locked eyes with him and struggled to stand her ground. His horns only added to his height, practically touching the ceiling. 

“Okay, for  _ one _ , I didn’t  _ escape _ ,” he explained, voice carrying a sort of drawl that made it sound as though he was explaining himself to a small child, “you  _ invited  _ me in.” Grinning, he turned his head and glanced at the pair of ghosts hovering silently in the room. “And you weren’t mad when you invited  _ them _ to show themselves—” 

“I didn’t know you were  _ here! _ ” 

He shrugged. “Too bad. It  _ was _ sorta an open invite, there, Lexie. And two?”

He paused. Chuckled lowly. Flicked his tail. 

_ Christ, how fucking dramatic can you get? _

_ Do they teach theater in hell or something?  _

The look on his face was nothing short of completely  _ menacing _ , the condescending tone in his voice only adding to Lex’s unease, and the darkness wasn’t helping either. The inky shadows were only making her painfully aware of the fact that his eyes  _ shouldn’t _ have been reflecting as much light as they were. They were practically glowing, reflecting the scant moonlight and highlighting the fact that his teeth were somewhat bared. 

“...we made a deal.” He finished, glimmering eyes not moving from where they were trained on her.

Behind her, Hannah whimpered. One of her hands brushed up against Lex’s wrist, settling there and squeezing tightly to a point where Lex could feel every individual finger pressing against her skin. 

“ _ Wrong deal _ ,” she shakily whispered, her sobs subsiding to shuddering, wet sounding breaths, “ _ not him _ , Lexie,  _ liar _ … he’s  _ bad.” _ The last part of the sentence was whispered in an even quieter tone. 

_ She doesn’t want him to hear. _

Not that the whisper went unnoticed. 

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Charming,” he remarked, dryly. His hands slipped back into the pockets of his jacket, his wings folding neatly against his back. “Seriously. I’m flattered. Does she get that from you?” 

Lex stiffened when he cocked his head and shot her a toothy smile. His tail kept swishing like that of a cat on the prowl, and although he wasn’t speaking, something about him made her hackles rise. 

“Shut the hell up,” she hissed, unable to keep her voice from sounding scratchy, “shut the  _ hell _ up— god, can you just— can you  _ go _ ?”

Hannah’s grip on her wrist tightened. 

Ethan stepped closer. Tipped his head to the side. “Uh. Where?” 

Lex curled her fingers into fists. “I dunno— god, just— pick a chair in the other room, okay? I—”

“You’re leaving me unsupervised?” Again, he gave a bit of a laugh. “Sounds kinda stupid, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.” Clicking his tongue, he took a step backward and lifted his hands in a sort of mock surrender. That grin didn’t fade in the slightest. 

_ What the fuck is so funny? _

It took all of her self control to bite back the words. She all but choked on them when she inhaled, forcing them down in favor of turning her eyes to Hannah. Her expression softened in an instant. 

“C’mon, Banana, let’s get you to bed, okay?” She tried to soothe, gently pulling her wrist out of Hannah’s grasp and settling her hand on her shoulder, crouching in front of the younger girl. 

Hannah didn’t pull away. 

_ Okay. _

_ That’s good, that means it’s not that bad… right? _

Rubbing her thumb along Hannah’s shoulder, Lex used her other hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of Hannah's eyes. “I’ll get him to leave and—”

“Won’t leave,” Hannah interrupted, the terrified, shaky  _ acceptance _ in her tone enough to make a cold tingle run down Lex’s spine. 

Behind her, Ethan made a low noise in the back of his throat— a hum of agreement, from what Lex could tell. 

She barely heard him. 

“Staying,” Hannah insisted, “ _ Lexie, he’s staying.”  _ The scant light illuminating the dampness of her eyes only made the fear in them easier to spot as she continued, hands coming to clutch at the sides of her head. “Bad board— made a mistake—” Her voice broke into a shaky inhale, and when it did, Lex carefully moved to try helping her to her feet. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Won’t,” Hannah responded without a second of hesitation.

From behind her, Ethan snickered. “Wow, she’s real optimistic. Totally gets it from you—”

Before Lex could tell him to shut his  _ fucking  _ mouth for what had to be the thousandth time, Emma cut him off. 

“Aren’t you supposed to listen to her?”

_ Emma. Fuck. Right. She’s here.  _

Craning her neck to see, still keeping her hands braced on Hannah’s shaking shoulders, Lex couldn’t help but smirk.

_ She’s pissed. _

Though it was hard to see her near translucent shape in the darkness, Lex could more than make out her furrowed brow and fighting stance over Ethan’s shoulder. 

“...well,  _ yeah _ ,” he started, tip of his tail cracking against the wall of the hallway, “but—”

“Then  _ listen _ , jackass.”

Lex almost laughed.  _ Almost _ . 

Had Hannah not been trembling in front of her, she probably would’ve— the whole thing was fucking  _ insane _ . She’d been alone less than an hour ago, and now, a ghost and a demon were getting into an argument in her fucking hallway.

From the look of it, the demon was losing. 

“I’m sorry,” Ethan bit, “ _ since when did it fucking matter to you?” _

“This was  _ my house! _ I might not own it anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna just  _ let  _ you fuck with the people who  _ do _ , right, Paul?”

Silence fell momentarily before Paul seemed to find his voice. “Y-Yeah,” he stammered out, pausing to clear his throat before trying again, ”yeah, that— that’s right, and you… you  _ did _ say that you’d listen to her.” 

It wasn’t the strongest argument, though from where she was crouching, Lex saw Ethan’s shoulders rise. This time, she knew she wasn’t hearing things when a growl broke through the air. 

Emma smirked in response to the noise. “That’s three against one. Sit your ass down.” 

Ethan’s tail flicked. “Two of those votes don’t fucking count,” he growled, though as he did… he started to stalk toward the kitchen.

When he moved out of the hallway, Lex felt like she could breathe properly again. 

“C’mon,” she prompted, giving Hannah a gentle pull, “it’s late.” 

_ This feels so fucking wrong.  _

It wasn’t like it  _ wasn’t  _ late or anything like that, but the fact that she was convincing her baby sister to go to sleep after what had just happened was downright  _ insane _ — not that she wasn’t aware of that. But what the hell else could she do? She wasn’t about to let Hannah just sit there and  _ watch  _ as she tried to do… something about her dead ex-classmate.

God. And that went without even  _ mentioning  _ the pair of ghosts that had leapt into the conversation to defend her.

That had allegedly been there since before they’d moved in.

... _ fuck _ , she needed another drink.

_ Focus. _

Pulling her thoughts away from the liquor cabinet, Lex stood up, her grip on Hannah’s shoulders shifting down to take her sister’s hands. “I know it’s scary right now, but things’ll look better in the morning.” 

Mistrust flickered across Hannah’s face. Those eyes— intelligent brown eyes that always seemed far too old for a girl of thirteen— flicked across Lex’s face before boring into her own in one of the rare instances of complete eye contact from her. Lex felt like she was being read.

Hannah blinked.

Her brows drew together. “...liar,” she accused, softly, eyes still boring into Lex’s even as she allowed herself to be guided to her feet. Her movements were stiff when she stood, those eyes drilling into Lex’s imploringly. “ _ Not _ better. Badder.  _ Much _ badder.”

In the kitchen, a chair squeaked, though it wasn’t loud enough of a noise to mask the sound of Ethan snickering. “Hey, what’s with that grammar?” He piped up, “even _I_ know it’s  _ more _ badder.”

Lex didn’t give him the dignity of a response. Instead, she clenched her jaw and inhaled slowly. “Can’t be that much worse,” she tried to reason, “it’ll be daylight— you’ll be able to actually  _ see _ , that’s always a plus.” As she spoke, she continued to navigate Hannah toward their shared bedroom. “And I can get the light replaced—“

“What about  _ them?” _

The panicky breathing started up again.  _ Shit _ . 

Fumbling for words, not wanting to admit that she had  _ no fucking clue how to respond _ , Lex tried her best to be a steady presence. “Hannah, look at me,” she tried to reassure, “it’s gonna be—“

“ _ Not alone _ , don’t want to be alone…” Hannah’s voice turned desperate. Shaking, inhaling raggedly, she clutched at her pigtails tightly and tugged on them for a long moment.

“You have Webby, don’t you?” 

_ Where’s that stupid doll?  _

Glancing down at the floor where Hannah had been curled up, Lex caught sight of the purple stuffy and carefully let go of Hannah to pick it up. The beaded eyes clacked softly in the quiet. The fabric legs brushed up against each other.

It really was an ugly thing, but if it brought Hannah joy, so be it.

_ Thank god it didn’t sell.  _

“See?” Lifting the little toy close to Hannah, she smiled when her sister took it and held it close to her chest. “You can take Webby with you, and then you won’t be alone, right?” 

Hannah clutched the spider tighter. 

_ Please don’t fight me on this _ .

Lex tried to make the silent plea obvious in her expression, taking another deliberate step toward the bedroom. “C’mon, Hannah, you can stay up and draw if you want to, talk to Webby a little…” Trailing off, bringing a hand up to rest once more on Hannah’s shoulder, she lowered her head slightly to better be at eye-level with her. “I’ll be fine.” 

A cold chill washed over her back. It wasn’t as intense as some of them had been— staying more in one spot on her shoulderblade before retracting— but it still caused her skin to break out in goosebumps.

“Did you want me to go with her?” Paul asked, quietly, a genuine sort of concern in his voice. “I can…” 

When she turned to face him, it took her a moment to actually figure out where the hell he was— the darkness hiding his near-translucent shape with ease— though when she did, the first thing she noticed was that he looked genuinely  _ nervous _ . 

The second thing she noticed was that  _ through  _ him, she could make out the shape of the kitchen table, and a certain winged presence sitting sulkily in one of the chairs beside it. 

She forced herself to meet his eyes. 

_ Don’t look at him. Deal with this right now. He’s finally fucking quiet, don’t give him any attention.  _

He took it as a green light to continue. “E-Emma can keep an eye on that one, b-but I can make sure Hannah gets to bed, if… if she doesn’t mind, that is, I could… I m-mean, she said she didn’t want to be alone, and she  _ has _ Webby—” he gestured at the spider Hannah was clutching tightly against her chest “—but if she wanted—”

“Don’t mind,” Hannah interjected, clearly. 

Lex’s eyes turned to Hannah. 

_ She trusts him. _

It was only further confirmed when she gingerly pulled herself away from Lex and offered Paul a hesitant glance. 

It was usually pretty hard to tell what was going on in her head, but in the seconds that she looked past Lex and at the ghost standing beside her, she was easy enough to read. 

There was a slow sort of trust flickering across her face, there in a soft head tilt and a furrowed brow. “...Paul?” 

Although the situation was more than a little bit fucked, for whatever reason, Lex felt her heart warm just slightly.  _ Yeah _ , it was still beating far too fast, and yeah, she could still see all the way through Paul when he looked to her for permission, but…

For some damn reason, she trusted him. 

Maybe it was the fact that he even bothered to look at her first. 

Maybe it was the way he looked when he did it— head lowered submissively, shoulders drawn up slightly, eyebrows drawn together in genuine  _ concern. _

Maybe it was because, despite the blood caked onto his sleeve, he seemed so… nonthreatening. 

Or maybe it was some other reason. 

Not that it really mattered why. 

Whatever the reason, Lex found herself nodding silently at him before gently patting Hannah on the shoulder against the dread coiling in her stomach. “Okay,” she breathed out, looking from Paul to her sister, “don’t stay up too late.”

Her voice was hollow. It wasn’t much of a real instruction— hell, she knew she’d be lucky to get ten minutes of sleep before her shift in the morning… _ fuck. _

_ Maybe I should call in sick. _

God, was she really thinking about work right now?

Blinking a few times as though trying to clear her head, Lex took a step back and glanced up at Paul one more time before nodding again. 

When he smiled in return, it looked forced. More sympathetic than genuine, though not in a malicious way. 

_ He really is tired.  _

_...do ghosts get tired? _

Although the thought was nonsensical, there  _ was _ a tiredness to Paul that couldn’t be denied even as he drifted a few inches down the hallway and glanced over his shoulder at Hannah.

Hannah’s grip on the plushie loosened a fraction, and then… 

“...night, Lexie,” she mumbled, moving to turn away, though not before she shot Lex one more meaningful look. “Be careful.” 

The tone in her voice was one thick with worry, a slight tremor in her words enough to make Lex hesitate before responding.

“I will,” she promised, trying not to think too hard about  _ how _ the  _ fuck  _ was supposed to be careful, “don’t worry about me.”

“Too late for that.”

In spite of the situation, Lex gave a soft laugh in response, though she turned it to a cough when Hannah’s expression turned concerned.

“Y’know what? That’s fair, but you’ve gotta get going. You can show Paul some of your drawings, or talk to Webby…”

There was an unspoken piece of the sentence that hung in the air between them with enough weight to make Lex bite the inside of her cheek.

_ Literally anything, so long as you’re not in here. _

_ I don’t want you in danger. _

_ Please, please don’t fight me on this and go. _

Trying to project the thoughts in her expression as well as she could, Lex allowed herself to exhale when Hannah turned toward Paul and stepped toward the bedroom with her spider tucked faithfully under her arm and the ghost following behind her.

“Do you think I can look at a few of those drawings?” Paul asked as Hannah opened the door, the gentle tone in his voice enough to make a bit of Lex’s unease slip away.

_ He’s harmless. _

He clearly  _ did _ care about Hannah, and if he really had blown up the light… she could leave the pair of them alone for a little while, right?

Yeah.

Probably.

Any of the reassurance Paul had provided with his steady presence disappeared the second the door closed behind him.

Behind her, Ethan cleared his throat. 

“...so,” he started, slowly, “now that she’s gone…”

Lex didn’t want to turn around, but her body seemed to move for her, causing her to meet those cat eyes once more— their owner still wearing a smug look.

“...let’s get the rest of this shit sorted.”

* * *

_ What do I do now? _

He hadn’t been thinking when he’d made the offer. It had just seemed like the right thing to do— Lex didn’t want Hannah there, she’d been struggling, she’d looked so  _ defeated _ — he couldn’t just stand there and watch… 

Which was now exactly what he was doing. Just standing and watching as Hannah warily looked back at him, spider under her arm and eyes trained on the floor by his feet. 

_ So I’m supposed to take the lead. _

He could do that. Lex had just said to make sure she didn’t stay up too late, though last he’d checked, it had seemed like it was already past that point. Either nearly eleven, or just past. 

_ I should’ve worn a watch when I was alive. _

Would it still tick?

The thought alone was enough to make him glance down at his empty wrist for a moment, almost hoping a watch had materialized there since he’d last checked. He was fairly certain he’d  _ had _ a watch at one point, not that he’d ever made much of an effort to wear it. 

Not that it mattered. 

Bringing his hands together in front of him, Paul sighed softly. “Okay,” he started, looking back to Hannah, “what were you thinking?” 

For a moment, silence fell between them. It was almost like Hannah hadn’t heard him at all. As Paul watched, she sat across from him on her ratty bed, the mattress sagging dangerously under her small weight while she settled. 

“...going to bed?”

She shook her head. Turning, she reached down the crack between the bed and the wall and carefully drew a small, well-loved book from the gap. She held it carefully, like it was some precious thing, looking down at it in silence before reaching back down, her hand returning clutching a pencil. 

Paul drifted a little closer, waiting for an invitation. From the way she held the book alone, it was clearly important to her. Placing the spider at her side, she brushed a hand over the cover. There was a look of concentration on her face, and after a moment, she pressed a hand to the side of her head before slowly, slowly looking up at Paul. 

She didn’t meet his eyes. 

She didn’t have to. 

Tapping the end of her pencil on the edge of the book, she shifted where she sat. “...look,” she murmured, quietly. 

_ That’s an invitation.  _

Crossing the room in a few easy strides, he sat next to her. It took a bit of concentration to keep from phasing through the bed— his hip fell through where the blankets were bunched together in a tangled mess— though he managed to stay on top of the mattress beside her. 

“Is this where you keep your drawings?” He asked as he looked over her shoulder, somewhat curiously. 

_ She normally only draws on blank paper. _

From what he could tell it was a sketchbook. Nothing fancy. The cover was plain black, cracked in spots where the cheap coating had started to peel off, and the spiral binding was bent in places— from the look of it, it gave Hannah a little trouble to open up. 

“...sometimes,” she answered. “Only important ones.” 

Paul nodded, wincing for a moment when Hannah flicked on her booklight. It was a dim glow, but compared to the darkness of the bedroom, it seemed almost blinding for a few seconds. Blinking a few times, he attempted to clear the bright spots from his vision. 

_ Yet another thing ghosts shouldn’t have to deal with. _

Just another thing for the list, aside migraines, and breathing. 

“Important?” He echoed back, turning his eyes away from the book to look at a few of the other stacks of paper scattered across the tiny room. “I think all your drawings are pretty important.” 

There was a tone in his voice that he couldn’t entirely explain— one that he tended to use when talking to kids. Something light. Soft, almost. Playful in a way. 

When he glanced back at Hannah, she was smiling down at the book, albeit, shakily. He couldn’t blame her. It was a lot to process. The fact that Lex and Emma were alone with  _ whatever _ that was—  _ he’s clearly not human, at least, not anymore _ — was one that sat funny with him and made his insides twist. 

_ They’re fine.  _

_ They have to be. _

A little hum from Hannah pulled him out of the beginnings of his panic and caused him to look back down at the sketchbook in her lap. 

The drawing looking back up at him, from what he could tell, was a headshot of Lex, the teen smiling crookedly from the page. It wasn’t an expression she seemed to wear often. 

Paul smiled.

_ Only the important drawings, huh? _

“That looks really good,” he praised, at which Hannah hummed again in reciprocation, gingerly running her fingers down the edge of the page before turning it.

“Not yet,” was her only comment in response, her voice soft. 

Paul nodded along. It was all he could think to do. Resting his hands on his knees where he sat, he didn’t make another comment as Hannah flipped through the pages from the back of the book.

_ She’s looking for something specific. _

The sketches she breezed past seemed like more time had been put into them than some of the others, and although he wasn’t given much time to look at any of them, Paul could pick out a few unfamiliar faces and the spindly legs of a spider sketched out across the pages— it looked like more time had been put into the drawings in the book. More detail. 

A page caught his eye. 

_ Why is that familiar? _

As if he’d spoken up, Hannah stopped flipping and smoothed out the page’s crinkled corners. 

Paul’s shoulders stiffened. It was more a doodle than anything else— a scene. One that Paul… recognized. 

_ The Starlight Theater.  _

Although he hadn’t truly felt cold since it had happened— since the crash and the song and the feeling of his life leaving him with the faded notes of a melody on his lips— a shudder coursed over him. 

On the paper, the building looked as though a giant fist had slammed down through the glass ceiling. The front doors were hanging askew— open enough to show off the mangled interior, supports hanging crookedly where they’d been placed alongside the carpet that was scattered with ash and debris— though that wasn’t what made Paul feel queasy.

The part that made his chest feel too tight was the fact that in the wreckage were the crumpled shapes of what looked to be three people.

He swallowed nervously. “Did…” shifting his weight before trying to speak again, Paul cleared his throat. “Did you see that in the news?” 

_ There’s no other way she could’ve known. _

She’d probably heard about it from her sister, or at school, or maybe from the local paper… right?

Hannah responded by picking up the stuffed spider and placing it on her lap next to the book. Her fingers ran carefully through the short, purple fur on the creature’s head. 

“...bad day,” she murmured, thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the drawing as she turned the page to another drawing— this one of the outside of their house. 

_ She’s really good. _

He was about to open his mouth to say so— already, he’d shoved his unease over the sketch of the starlight into a deep corner of his mind— but Hannah turned the page once more before he could pipe in, this time, to a still life of a shattered lamp. 

The knot tied around Paul’s chest tightened. 

“Did you see that?”

Again, Hannah only responded by patting the head of her toy spider. The action was a little less gentle this time. Her fingers stayed twined in the purple fur a little longer. 

_ She’s shaking. _

“Maybe we should look at those another time...” he started, though when he did, Hannah was already halfway done turning the page.

He didn’t want to slide closer to her. He  _ also _ didn’t get a choice. His body seemed to move for him, causing him to crane his neck and hold his breath in the moments before the drawing came into view.

The breath he’d been holding escaped him when he saw what she’d drawn.

This one was in a looser style. It was something Paul noticed right away— the lines were less solid, more wobbly, as though it had been drawn in a hurry. Some parts of it looked as though they’d been drawn with a bit more care, neatly shaded, the lines crisper, but that only made the frantic, swooping lines all the more unnerving.

It was the kitchen. The rickety table was drawn with careful, calculated lines, the chairs penciled in with relative ease.

The  _ thing _ perched on top of the table wasn’t.

The grinning thing.

The grinning thing wearing a leather jacket.

The grinning thing wearing a leather jacket that Hannah had somehow drawn before she’d even  _ seen him. _

Struggling to keep his panic at bay, Paul took a deep breath in and tried to find his words. “That’s… that’s different than the other ones,” he observed, pulling his eyes away from the drawing’s unblinking gaze. His stomach had twisted into a knot, and when he inhaled, his breath felt a little too sharp. 

_ When did she draw that? _

_ There’s no way she’s seen him before. _

The drawing suggested otherwise. The details were all there in the dark shape— a pair of extended wings, horns, glimmering eyes— right down to the one glove the demon wore and the thin, pointed tail that curled around him like a snake. 

Hannah pushed the book off her lap and replaced it with the plush spider. “...not him,” she uttered, voice coming out croaky. She wasn’t looking at Paul— her eyes still glued to the book. She was holding the spider tight, petting its fur with quick, short strokes. “...not good.”

There was a heavy sort of dread settling over Paul, something that squeezed the air from his lungs and made his skin feel too tight. He ignored it. 

Well. He  _ tried  _ to. 

_ Worry about Hannah.  _

“Hey,” he started, tapping his fingers on his knees, “I’m sure that your sister’s gonna figure all that out.” Moving slowly, he reached out and grabbed ahold of the sketchbook. It took a bit of focus to keep his fingers from slipping through the cover, but he managed to gingerly close it and drop it onto the floor with a dull thump. “What  _ you _ need to figure out is a good rest, okay? You aren’t going to be able to help if you’re tired in the morning.” 

She was in her pyjamas already from what he could tell, a pair of long checkered pants and a burgundy shirt that looked a little too big for her small frame, hanging off her oddly when she shifted how she sat. The spider didn’t leave her hands. Even as she moved to lay on her side, sighing softly, she kept it snugly in her arms. 

Though Paul’s mind was a mess— thoughts rattling around in a vain attempt to connect the dots, to make time for her to have drawn the demon  _ after _ having seen him despite the fact that he’d  _ been _ there when they’d first made contact— he managed to offer Hannah a smile, standing up next to the bed. 

“Right. Goodnight, Hann—”

“Stay.” 

When he looked back to her, she’d tucked her legs into her blankets, the comforter drawn over her shoulders in a way that allowed the stuffed spider to peer out of the blanket alongside her. 

Leaving Emma and Lex alone with—

_ Ethan, that’s his name— _

—that demon seemed like a terrible idea, but…

“Okay,” he found himself saying. 

When he sat down again at Hannah’s bedside, his body didn’t sink into the mattress. Unease still swirled through his head. His lungs still felt too tight, but when he looked at Hannah… saw that her eyes were closed and her breathing was starting to even out… 

Carefully, he pulled the covers up a little further over her shoulders. 

He could stay. 

After all, Lex and Emma were smart. They’d figure out how to deal with him, and he’d be gone by morning. 

Probably.

Swallowing nervously, bringing his hands together in front of him and twining his fingers, Paul found his gaze drifting down to the discarded sketchbook on the floor. The hair on the back of his neck rose. 

Even with the book closed and Hannah drifting off on the bed beside him, it made his breathing quicken just a tad. The drawing of the theater was one thing, sure, but the drawing of Ethan perched on the table… 

Behind him, Hannah stirred in her sleep. 

_ It’s nothing.  _

_ Just a coincidence.  _

Writing it off as a coincidence was stupid— he  _ knew _ it was stupid— but what else could he do? After all, if he  _ didn’t _ write it off as a coincidence… 

His fingers drummed lightly on his knees. 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t his problem. Not right now. 

Right now? All he had to do was make sure that Hannah slept soundly, and from the fact that her breathing was gradually growing more even… he was doing a pretty good job at that. 


	9. i'll think about your offer (let you know)

The silence hanging in the room wasn’t comfortable in the slightest.

It was heavier than anything else. Something that felt like a fourth presence in the room alongside them— a presence that made the air feel just a little too thin as Emma breathed it in.

She knew that Lex could feel it too. The teen was standing stiffly, back to the hallway, shoulders squared in an almost practiced fighting stance, eyes trained on the reason the room felt so uncomfortable. 

Somehow, he was even irritating when he _wasn’t_ talking. 

It was something about the way he held himself where he sat, something about the way his head was slightly tilted and his long, whiplike tail was coiled one of the chair’s legs— the end of it twitching lightly in place, tapping rhythmically against the wooden support. He was still smiling— _did he ever stop?_ — that fanged, stupid grin not faltering in the slightest when she shot him her best glare. 

Under her gaze, he rolled his eyes. “Jesus, would it kill ya to…” 

It was like he constantly had to _flaunt_ the fact that he had fangs. Even when he shot her a halfway wince, the sharp, glittering points dug into his lip in a way that made it look more like he was baring his teeth than _actually_ considering his sentence. 

“...y’know,” he mused, “that was a poor word choice— it’s a little late for that, after all, but the point still stands.” 

Emma’s scowl deepened. “Yeah, you’re right, that _was_ a poor word choice, actually,” she agreed, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. Her fingers drummed lightly on her upper arm as she narrowed her eyes in his direction, though… there was a bit of wariness to it. Not that she wanted there to be, but after being thrown into a wall by a demon, it was probably best to be cautious around _said_ demon.

Any other person would’ve been cautious. 

But Emma Perkins wasn’t any other person. 

It wasn’t like she had anything to fucking lose— so what if he’d thrown her into a wall? It wasn’t like it had _hurt_ , and it _also_ wasn’t like she had anything left to lose, and the fact that he’d said he _might_ be able to kill her again really, really didn’t phase her. What the fuck would happen to her, then? She’d be… what, an _extra dead_ ghost?

_That’s such bullshit._

Holding his gaze as well as she could manage, she couldn’t help a small pang of satisfaction when he was the first of them to look away with a cough and a roll of his shoulders. 

“Right… okay, can we get back to the whole— y’know— _deal?”_ He asked, waving one clawed hand at his side in a broad gesture. “Havin’ you around is gonna complicate shit— why don’t you just… I dunno, fuck off with your little boyfriend, okay?” 

Emma’s nostrils flared. Her face flushed. 

_Oh, fuck this guy._

When he’d first appeared, she’d almost felt _bad_ for him— he didn’t look any older than nineteen, which meant he’d had to have died young— but _now?_ Now, she was more than willing to attempt killing him again with her bare hands.

Before she could even think of what to say in response— mind jumping through a mess of sentences in a split second— Lex cut in. 

“She’s staying,” she huffed out, raising her chin when Ethan’s slit pupils focused on her. 

Emma swore she heard him growl before he spoke— the flicker of aggression that had crossed his face with the noise disappearing in an instant, changing to something almost confident. 

Arrogant. 

It didn’t falter when his eyes glanced over her l dismissively before returning to Lex. 

“Fine,” he returned with a sharp, irritated exhale, “whatever. She can stay— though she ain’t a part of this.” As he spoke, he changed how he was sitting, moving to brace his elbows against the crooked backrest of the chair. One of his hands came to prop his head up somewhat lazily, the fingers of his opposite hand tapping away at the wood. 

His claws made the noise turn sharp.

It was enough to make Emma wince.

“So basically, you’ve asked for protection— which is like, totally fine by me.” Raising his claws, he scratched behind one of his horns. “I can make that happen for ya. No problemo— now as for _my_ side of this arrangement—”

“Wait wait wait—” Lex started, an incredulous note in her voice, “ _your_ —”

Ethan cut her off with a laugh. “Uh— _yeah_. I ain’t doin’ this for free! If I was doin’ this outta the goodness of my heart, I don’t think I’d be a…” Still snickering, he shook his head and lifted his wings on his back. “Y’know.” Tail twitching, fangs— _god, those fucking stupid fangs— the fuck does he think he is, a vampire?_ — bared in a smile, Ethan leaned down and rested his chin on the back of the chair expectantly. Even though it was dark, the dim glow of the streetlights made his eyes gleam like those of a cat on the prowl. 

A cat about to pounce. 

Beside her, Lex narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms defensively. “What happened to you asking me what _I_ wanted?” She asked, her voice holding a surprising sort of authority. 

Well. Not _entirely_ surprising.

It wasn’t like Emma had known Lex for all that long or anything, but she had to admit that the older Foster girl was resilient. If it was by choice was completely up in the air, sure, but either way, the point still stood. 

Lex Foster didn’t take shit. 

And from the look of it, she wasn’t about to start now. 

The tension in the room was heavy enough to make Emma’s ribs feel a little too tight where she floated, gaze trained on Ethan as though he was about to leap from where he was sitting. It looked like he was considering it— from the way his tail was thrashing and his jaw was twitching lightly. His claws dug a little harder into the back of the chair. 

“...right, you got me there,” he finally admitted— voice a little deeper than it had been moments ago, closer to a growl than anything else, “but—”

“But _nothing_ ,” Lex cut him off, standing taller than she had a moment ago before pinching the bridge of her nose and exhaling sharply. “Look, Ethan, you said that you’d _help_ , not— not fucking manipulate the situation so you can get what you want, that’s not helping, that’s just being an asshole.” 

A scoff pulled from his throat. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Waving one hand dismissively in front of him, he shot Lex a sneer, wings fluttering— flapping— flaring open at his sides to block the already dim light almost completely. His eyes still seemed to glow. “I didn’t see you getting out of your own shitty situation. My apologies, Lex—” His words were turning to a bitter, angry sort of hiss. 

Lex shrank back from him when he began to lean over the back of the chair, wings still spread threateningly, claws latched firmly onto the wood. “—but _you’re_ the one who made the deal—”

_Fuck this._

With one swift motion, Emma shot downward, putting herself between the pair of them. “Hey, can you two not do this right now?” she snapped. “I get that you’re a demon— tone it down, alright?” 

Ethan raised a hand. Not in a way that made it look like the fucker was asking a question, no, it was a lingering threat. “Do you _really_ want me to—”

“Don’t you dare.” Lex stepped around Emma, nose wrinkling with a scowl. “And you said you have to listen to me, so you can’t even argue.” Her stance was still stiff— posture rigid— as she stepped closer to the demon where he sat. 

When he opened his mouth to speak, a look of annoyance flitting across his face—

“Like you said.”

—Lex didn’t give him a chance. 

“Let’s get this shit sorted. First order of business, I’m fixing my half of the bargain if you’re going to ask for something, so keep your mouth shut.” 

Emma couldn’t help a nervous glance to Lex. 

_Is she okay?_

Although there was confidence oozing from her voice, there was something almost off about it— subtle enough that Ethan didn’t seem to notice, but there all the same. Emma moved a little closer to her. Almost instinctively, she raised a hand to rest on Lex’s shoulder, though—

_Shit, right._

—she was quick to draw it back against her chest. A cold chill was probably the last thing she needed while facing down some dead guy that she apparently… knew. Sort of. _Yeah_ , she was blindly feeling through context cues, but it wasn’t like Lex had had the time to explain anything to her. 

Because of the dead guy. 

_Ethan_. 

Ethan, who had clenched his jaw tightly enough that it looked almost like it’d snap off under any extra pressure. “Right.” He hissed through his teeth. “Fine.” Shifting his weight, wings folding back up behind him after what seemed like a small eternity, he gave a small growl and threw up his hands in front of him. “Fix away— though you ain’t gettin’ the option to opt outta thi—”

“Who else can see you?”

He blinked. The twin lights of his eyes disappeared momentarily, but when they reappeared, they were bright enough to make Emma’s skin prickle— bright enough to make her realize just how fucking _dark_ the room was in comparison.

_Yeah, that’s definitely not normal._

“What?”

“I can see you, and so… so can Hannah, so who the fuck else—“

“There’s no need to be _rude_.” Tail lashing freely behind him, Ethan made a low noise in the back of his throat that could’ve been a stifled growl or a cough. 

Emma was willing to put money on it being the former from his expression alone.

One of his eyelids twitched. “The only person who _should_ be able to see me is _you_ ,” he explained, glancing to her momentarily before sighing, “and I guess you, too. I mean, we _are_ both dead, so… you, your weird friend, the tall guy, and for some reason, that fucking kid.“ If he saw the way Lex’s shoulders drew up to her ears when he spoke about Hannah, he didn’t seem to notice. 

Or if he did, he didn’t care. 

Still acting casual, stretching slightly— chair squeaking at the movement— Emma opted to keep her distance when he leaned the chair forward slightly. “What’s her deal, anyway? Is she like… what, gifted or something? Sixth sense or—“

“Hey, leave her out of this,” Emma tried, “your whole thing’s with Lex, not Hannah.”

In response, he quirked a brow. “So I’m _not_ protecting her, then?”

_Fuck._

It took all of her self control to keep from flinching when his gaze turned to her. “That’s not—“ She started, though her words died on her tongue when he snickered.

Red tinged the corners of her vision.

She knew his type.

She _hated_ that she knew his type, but working at a coffee shop in Hatchetfield had more than familiarized her with the sorts of people that’d pass through, and Ethan fit squarely into the category of person she’d have to ask to leave for doing some dumb shit like trying to climb over the counter to steal cold, shitty pastries. 

Not that anyone had ever _actually_ tried stealing the cold, shitty pastries, but whatever. The point still stood.

She knew his type well enough that she wasn’t even surprised by his response.

“Just… stay outta this, okay?” He asked in a low, condescending drawl. 

It still made her brows draw together.

_Right. Sure. I’ll stay out of a literal deal with the devil that a teenager’s making in my kitchen._

_With another teenager._

_God,_ this whole thing was ridiculous. 

Biting down hard on her tongue to keep from informing him _how_ ridiculous this whole fucking thing was, Emma begrudgingly slunk back to stay beside Lex. Paul was always better at the whole “silent reassurance” thing than she was— specifically the _silent_ part.

_He better come back soon._

There was an uncomfortable tension at the base of her neck that only seemed to grow worse when Lex crossed her arms and kept quiet.

She couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking.

She could barely get a handle on what _she herself_ was thinking before Ethan cleared his throat and awkward clapped his hands.

“So, the deal as far as _I_ know,” he started, slowly, “is that I’m keeping you an’ your freaky little sister—“

“Hannah.” Lex corrected. 

“—ain’t that what I said?”

“I— _no_ , it’s not, actually—”

“Whatever, fine, you and _Hannah_ —” His voice took on an almost mocking pitch at the name “—are currently under my protection, right?” 

“...right.”

“Right. I’m _also_ not allowed to hurt either of you, or… _kill_ anyone, or _touch_ Hannah— is that it? We’re all caught up? That’s the agree—”

“Hey— _hey_ —” Holding a hand up in front of her, Lex shook her head, flicking her wrist a few times, “—slow down a sec, this— I can… I can _change_ parts of this, right? This— this whole _deal_ thing?” 

Ethan’s tail flicked. “Well, _yeah_ , but no takesies-backsies— hang on, we should probably be writin’ this shit down…”

Emma couldn’t help but nod along with his words. It was the first thing he’d said since materializing that made sense— and as much as she didn’t want to give him credit for it…

Gliding a little closer to Lex where she stood, Emma lowered her voice. “It’d be harder for him to go back on a deal if it’s like, written out,” she said softly, gaze still trained on the demon where he sat, “just don’t let him write it and you should be good to—”

“Yeah,” Lex agreed, turning her back on the demon to grab a sheet of paper off the counter— left from Hannah in the morning, “‘cause he can’t fucking spell.” 

Ethan wrinkled his nose. “I heard that.”

“Good,” Emma returned, keeping her eyes trained on him— though she looked away just long enough to notice that Lex’s hands were trembling. 

_Shit. She’s not coping with this at all._

Although it wasn’t a surprise— it was a _lot_ to cope with, after all, a pair of ghosts and a fucking demon— it still made Emma’s stomach turn. 

_Fuck_ , Paul was _also_ better at picking up on shit like that. He could practically sense when something was wrong— at least, he could with _her—_ and when he did, he had a knack for knowing just what to say— Emma didn’t have any of that. All she had was… 

...pretty much nothing. 

_Shit._

Swallowing hard against the unease creeping up the back of her throat, Emma exhaled slowly, more than a little aware of the fact that Ethan was eyeing her in return with that same, stupid smirk on his face. 

Their eyes met. 

It was only for a moment.

 _God_ , he was _totally_ the type to get kicked out of Beanies— right down to the too-big leather jacket and flannel tied tight around his waist— _why does he even need that?_

“Got the paper.”

Lex’s voice pulled her back into the present. Looking up, she watched as the teen hesitated, paper and red pencil crayon clasped firmly in one hand— drawn up to her chest as though they could shield her from what was going on. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore, but from the too-tight grip alone, it was clear that she was on the verge of trembling. 

When she inhaled, it whistled slightly in her throat. Jutting out her chin at Ethan, Lex set the paper down on the edge of the counter. “Okay,” she breathed out. 

It was almost like she had some sort of gravitational pull to her. Without even thinking about it, Emma drifted closer to her, looking over her shoulder as she started up a list. 

“Okay,” Ethan returned, tone even, “now, correct me if I’m wrong, but the way I see it, the agreement is—”

“You keep us safe,” Lex finished for him, “you don’t fuck with Hannah, and you don’t get to hurt anyone— no possession, no murder, no freaky demon shit— _none_ of that.” While she spoke, the pencil scratched along the paper’s surface. The letters were barely visible in the dark, though Emma knew better than to point that out. 

Ethan tilted his head. “Do I wanna ask what qualifies as ‘freaky demon shit’?”

Beside her, Lex stiffened. “You _know_ what qualifies as freaky demon shit,” she hissed, lifting the pencil to point the sharpened end in his direction, “no— I dunno, I already said possession— no throwing Paul and Emma around, or anyone else, none of that shit.”

Her eyes turned to Emma. 

“That cover it?” 

_Oh._

_Shit, it’s my turn to talk._

Nodding, looking down at where Lex had hastily scrawled out what she’d said, Emma glanced back at Ethan. “Yeah, looks fine to me.” 

_To the point, no loopholes for him to fuck them over with… they’ll be fine—_

Her thoughts ground to a halt the second Ethan smiled at her. 

_Something’s wrong._ Not the fact that he was smiling, no, but the fact that it looked… more genuine than it had before. Even as he leaned his head back and sighed, it didn’t fade— content in a way that made Emma’s insides twist. 

_What changed?_

_Why’s he—_

“Y’know what, Lexie?” His voice broke through her thoughts. “That sounds like a—”

“Wait.” 

His pupils thinned. 

Lex turned to her. “What?” She asked, quietly, though Emma didn’t look back at her, too focused with holding Ethan’s steely gaze. 

_Fuck. I need to say something._

Inhaling slowly, ignoring the fact that his expression had turned challenging, Emma straightened herself out in the air.

“...give him a deadline. You don’t want him hanging around forever— and I know shit’s bad right now, but you’re _not_ gonna be here forever, so… how about until you can fend for yourself?” Pulling her eyes away from his, though not before watching that smugness disappear— _ha_ — she lifted her hands to her sides and tipped her head slightly to the left. “Just a thought.”

Lex nodded in response. Her pencil fell to the paper.

It was Emma’s turn to shoot him a cocky grin.

_Checkmate._

* * *

It took all of his self control to keep from flinging Emma across the room the second that smug look settled over her face. He could feel his hackles rising, teeth baring in a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes— eyes that were tracking the movements of Lex’s pencil with an eerie precision as she added the term to the list. 

_This is fine._

He could work with this. A deadline would make shit a _little_ harder than it needed to be, but he could deal with it. He was a _demon_ — he could find a way to poke a hole in the contract. No biggie… right?

From the way Emma smirked at him, he couldn’t help but think it’d be a little harder to deal with than he thought. 

For _fuck’s_ sake. Ghosts weren’t part of the plan.

Lex’s pencil stopped scratching. 

His claws started. He barely registered that his nails dragging over the back of the chair again and leaving a mess of jagged lines, and even when he _did_ notice, he really, really didn’t care. After all, property damage wasn’t on Lex’s list.

_You’re fine._

Swallowing a growl that rose up in his throat, Ethan forced himself to curl his thrashing tail around one of the table legs and raised his eyebrows. “So… do I get to tell ya my terms now?” He asked, ignoring the sensation of his tail twitching idly where it was coiled, “or are you gonna keep adding rules?” 

It was like awkward silences were their specialty. In the wake of his words, the only noise that rose to his ears was the noise of Lex shifting the paper.

_Really?_

_I get it, you’re scared, but move the fuck on already._ Was it really that much for her to wrap her head around? 

Judging by the fact that she _still_ hadn’t fucking said anything, he was going to go with _yes_. Great. He’d finally been given a shot, and now, here he was in the kitchen of someone that he not only _knew_ , but in the kitchen of someone who _hadn’t even meant to summon him in the first place._

Because being murdered wasn’t enough, no. Of course not. 

God, the universe loved to fuck over Ethan Green. 

And _apparently_ , it wasn’t done, which was perfect. Fucking _peachy._

Biting back a sigh, Ethan lowered his head and flicked his wrist disinterestedly. “You’ve already _technically_ agreed,” he added after a moment’s thought, lowering his hand back to the chair, “so… either I tell you _now_ , or I can spring it on you later. Both are fine by me.” 

Lex met his eyes. When she spoke up, it was slow. Hesitant— mirrored in her expression, in the way her brows were drawn together and her lips were pushed together in a thin line. Her fingers twitched on the counter, brushing up against the paper. “...what do you want, Green?”

Ethan visibly relaxed. The sound of his tail flicking against the table leg stopped short. A breezy laugh escaped his throat— not that he did anything to hold it back. “Well… since you were nice enough to _ask_ , Lex…” 

It was easy enough to keep track of the power in the room as it shifted. Emma had held the authority for awhile, using it to help Lex out with the fucking deadline thing— but now? It was his again. All eyes were on him as he lazily flicked his wings and dragged a single claw across the back of the chair. 

Emma winced, following the movement with her eyes, but Lex’s gaze stayed trained firmly on him. 

A smile broke across his face— a little too wide to be completely normal.

“Here it is. Jumpin’ across dimensions ain’t exactly an easy task, and it’s left me… fuck, what’s the word—”

“Tired?” Lex supplied, her tone flat. 

“Ehh…” Trailing off, Ethan waved a hand in a so-so motion that made Emma flinch.

_Relax, I’m not allowed to throw ya..._

_No matter how much I want to._

With a shrug of his wings, Ethan tapped his claws along the back of the chair. “Sure, let’s go with that,” he agreed, “I’m fuckin’ _wiped_ .” Unable to keep an almost genuine tone out of his voice, he gave a low chuckle and stretched, carefully uncoiling his tail from where it rested. “But see, the _problem_ is that the dead don’t sleep, or… eat or whatever, because we’re _dead_.” 

His hands shifted, bracing up against the wooden back of the chair before he stood in a smooth motion. “And I can’t just take a nap to get energy back, either— sleepin’s different when you’re dead, believe it or not— so anyway, to get to the _point_ …” Bending his knees, he brushed them up against the chair’s seat. “I need to feed off _something_ , and, well, when ya shook my hand... ” pausing, he stepped away from the chair and stuck his hands into his pockets, grinning crookedly and looking down to his beat-up sneakers. “You sorta—”

“Wait—” Lex cut in, voice a little higher than he remembered “—you want to _what?”_

A scoff wrenched from his throat. “Oh, don’t act so fuckin’ _surprised!”_ With an accusing jerk of a hand, he turned his attention to the ghost hovering at Lex’s side. “Emma’s been doing it the whole damn time— and you ain’t even noticed!” 

Emma’s expression flashed from one of fear to one of offense in an instant. Her body shot up a few inches from where she’d been floating— one of her hands phasing through the counter. “Hey, don’t go pulling me into your bullsh—”

“I’m not pulling you into anything!” Bringing his hand up, Ethan dragged his claws through his hair before pulling two fingers down to pinch the bridge of his nose. A groan worked up from his throat. 

_How long has she been dead for?_

Probably not that long, if she didn’t know how being dead even fucking _worked_. 

With a soft snicker, he shook his head before looking back to Lex. “Ain’t you ever felt… I dunno, _cold_ around her?” He tried, tilting his head for good measure. “My thing ain’t gonna feel much different than that— I just need physical contact from you for this to work.”

Lex’s eyes widened. A look somewhere between disgusted and terrified flashed across her face— _god, and I thought she was pale before, what the hell?_ She looked pastier than the ghost beside her did— though their expressions practically matched.

“Y-You want—“ she sputtered, cutting herself off with a sharp breath, “—you want to… for protection, you want me to…” when she spoke again, her voice mirrored the rising anger on her face. “That’s so _fucked!”_

It clicked.

_Oh—_

Disgust flashed across his features— eyebrows raising and nose wrinkling with the realization that she thought he wanted to—

“Nothing weird!” Ethan amended, voice pitching upward in defense. “Jesus— _no_ — you _said_ no freaky demon shit, so none— _none_ of that.” Unable to keep his face from twisting in a sickened expression, he stuck out his tongue, pinning it between his teeth momentarily before pulling the split end back into his mouth. “—even if you _hadn’t_ clarified, I was thinking like, hand-holding would sort it out? Nothing— look, no offense or whatever, but _hard_ fuckin’ pass.” 

Another groan wrenched from him. 

Lifting his hand, he dragged his claws lightly across the front of his face. He could feel his tail starting to go completely nuts again— twitching and jerking back and forth like it was trying to detach itself from him entirely. The pointed end smacked against the table. The candles perched atop it wobbled in place, threatening to fall— not that Ethan noticed. 

His focus was entirely on Lex. 

_Damn it,_ she was hard to read. 

Sure, she didn’t look outwardly repulsed anymore, he almost preferred the easy-to-read hatred rather than… whatever the fuck _this_ was. Her teeth were digging slightly into her bottom lip— brows drawn together and eyes unfocused— as she pulled her gaze from his own and rapped her fingers on the countertop. 

“...that’s it?” Emma asked, eyebrows creeping up on her forehead. 

Ethan lowered his hand from his face. 

_This is gonna sound pathetic, ain’t it?_

Taking a moment to breathe, Ethan tried in vain to ignore the sharp noise of his tail colliding with the table’s legs. It seemed as though the twitching was getting faster, which was just _great_. Some demon he was. He looked like an anxious cat— _yes_ , he still had the edge of wings and teeth, not to mention, he _was_ taller than both of them, but that only did so much good when one of them was levitating.

“...that’s all you want?” She asked again. 

Something in his jaw pulled taut, though after another moment spent in silence, he inhaled and forced a smile. “Yeah, more or less— though it ain’t like Lex here can back outta this whole thing.” His smile faded to a smirk as he stepped closer to Lex— tilting his head almost like a curious animal. His wings drew upward. “...that’s all I’m askin’. Just a bit of your energy so I can… y’know, actually _keep_ my end of this agreement.”

For… however long it took her to get on her feet. 

His nose twitched. 

_That’ll complicate things…_

Forcing the negative thoughts away, blinking, Ethan stuck his hands back into his pockets and nonchalantly set his hip against the table’s edge. “Simple,” he promised, the attempt at reassurance damn near instantly negated by the soft laugh that followed. “Though I’ll leave ya be for tonight— it’s gettin’ late, ain’t it?” 

Lex shot him a scowl. “How old do you think I am?” 

“Old enough to be concerned with a full night’s sleep?” He countered, turning his attention back toward the open hallway. His fingers rapped against the edge of the doorway— claws clacking away in a lazy rhythm. “Ain’t’cha got plans tomorrow?”

“What’s it to—”

“Working?” 

_Does she work the morning shift?_

It was a shot in the dark— backed only by the bags under her eyes and the pink vest under her jacket— but at the sound of a sigh, it was made clear that he’d hit the nail on the head. Fucking bingo. 

When he turned back to her, her scowl was still more than present, though in a different fashion than before— a little less certain. A little more concerned.

She may not have been easy to read, but unease was pretty easy to spot on _anybody_ , and it seemed that Lex Foster was no different. 

“...so I’m just supposed to… go to bed, now? That’s— this is all you wanted to discuss, just… hand-holding?”

Ethan shrugged. “Yeah, that’s… when ya put it like that, it sounds stupid—“

“It is,” Emma interrupted.

He ignored her. “—but that’s the gist of it, yeah. After all, this thing’s a two-way street. Gotta give me _something_ for all the good work I’m gonna be doin’.”

Although he kept his eyes focused on Lex, out of his peripheral vision, he could see Emma beginning to float just a little higher than she had been moments ago. 

_Jesus, do you go through the fucking ceiling when you’re upset?_

His arms shifted, crossing against his chest as he propped his shoulder against the closest wall— hovering in the opening between the kitchen and the hallway. “...’less you got a problem with it?”

“Actually,” Lex bit, “yeah, I _do_ have a problem with leaving a fucking demon unsupervised in my house while I’m asleep. Thanks for asking.” Bitterness seeped through her words— harsh enough to make Ethan bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep a growl from slipping past his lips.

_Breathe._

His nostrils flared. “Well,” he started, claws twitching on his forearms, “there ain’t exactly anything you can do about it, so—“

“We’ll keep an eye on him.”

_Fuck._

Looking up at her, Ethan felt his jaw clench.

Okay, so Emma could do _that_. 

_Damn it_ , how come he couldn’t have gotten stuck in a house that _didn’t_ already have paranormal entities hanging around— not just one of the fuckers either, no, _two wholeass ghosts—_ why couldn’t he have just avoided that? 

His eyes slipped closed before he could help it. Again, his claws pinched the bridge of his nose— a frustrated growl catching in his throat as his face scrunched up. “Y’know what? That’s _great_ ,” he forced out, “that’s— that’s real—“

His eyes opened, and everything was wrong.

“—swell.” He finished despite the fact that Emma couldn’t hear him anymore. 

Only one person could hear him, here.

Here, in the room that looked like the trailer house, but wrong— blurred around the edges. The shadows were longer. Stronger. Heavier than they had been before with a heavy, leering sort of definition— not that Ethan minded.

Turning, he paid no attention to the fact that his tail slunk through the wall he’d been leaning on moments ago, grey eyes slowly catching every changing detail in the room that seemed to be comprised of mist. The shadows seemed to carry more weight than the surrounding furniture.

Through what were supposed to be windows, a blinding white cascaded into the kitchen. 

His smirk returned.

_Nice touch._

“Jesus,” he remarked to the open space that wasn’t open at all, “thanks, I needed a breather.”

Not that this was really a _breather_ — his head was still spinning from the suddenness of just… not being in the same space he’d been before, he couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that his surroundings at least attempted to mimic where he’d been— though they weren’t doing that anymore. 

The shapes of the kitchen were starting to fade entirely, leaving Ethan standing in a mess of scattered hues and whites on a ground that he wasn’t sure existed and sure as shit wouldn’t be looking down at anytime soon. As the scenery around him began to melt, fading and swirling into something new— a dimly lit stage with that burning, glistening white spotlight beam focused in the middle of it—

“Not a problem, kid.”

A voice addressed him.

A familiar one.

Turning to where the rest of the theater was slowly, steadily starting to materialize around him, the shine of a pair of eyes caught Ethan’s attention— their owner shifting in the darkness, just a few steps up a low set of stairs.

Some of the tension that had squeezed his shoulders drained away. Raising one hand to rake through his curls, he flicked his tail and exhaled heavily through his teeth. A laugh caught in his throat. With a jaunty sort of step, he shook his head and slumped down in one of the theater’s abandoned seats. “You ain’t gonna _believe_ the shit I’ve had to deal with for the past fuckin’ hour.” 

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, more and more details of the figure came into view— ones he knew well. A pair of curled ram’s horns that started just in front of his ears. A denim jacket. A slicked back hairstyle— and of course, those glittering, slit pupils that matched his own, reflecting the brilliant hue of the spotlight. 

“Oh, I think I’ll believe it just fine,” he promised, inclining his head slightly to the left and striding closer— down a couple of steps with a few easy strides. Even though his wings were tucked against his back, his feet barely seemed to touch the floor, guiding him down to stand across from where Ethan sat. 

He was smiling. He always seemed to be. It was comforting in a way that Ethan couldn’t put his finger on— not that he minded. It was something that Wiley just seemed to be able to _do_ — set people at ease with nothing more than a calm voice, himself included. 

“Try me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Ethan, we're really in it now...


	10. take a little break here (kinda like a wake here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for being a little late with this update-- but hey, it's still on Sunday! Having some internet troubles as of right now, which should clear up soon. Sorry for the delay!

“I fucking hate this already.” 

There weren’t a lot of sentences that could follow that one. As much as it was said with passion— as much passion as he could muster while being slumped in the front row of an abandoned theatre— it wasn’t like there was really anywhere to  _ go _ from there. It was a pretty on the nose statement as far as he was concerned. 

Not that he wasn’t going to plow forward anyway with his complaining. 

Fuck, from dealing with Emma alone, he was fairly certain he’d earned the right to be a little pissed off. 

His tail was lashing— striking the chair next to him repeatedly— and try as he might to get it to stop, all he could manage to do was dig his claws into the shitty armrest beside him. “Seriously, from the  _ second _ I show up, shit’s already goin’ fuckin’ haywire! I mean, th’ fact that I was summoned by  _ accident _ is one thing—” 

“By  _ accident? _ ” Wiley interrupted, at which Ethan nodded. 

“Fucking  _ right? _ ” He seconded, raking his hand through his hair and scoffing angrily. “She was tryin’ to talk with some ghosts, and ended up smearin’ blood on her little board-piece-thing—”

“Planchette.”

“Yeah, what you said…” Trailing off, Ethan wrinkled his nose and attempted the new word. “Plan-shit or whatever,” he settled with, shifting his wings and attempting to sit a little more comfortably. His back was pressed up against the shabby armrest, legs slung over onto the chair next to him, tail slung over his legs and resting idly in his lap. “Had a whole candle circle set up, though that’s apparently ‘cause one of the ghosty fucks blew out a light earlier.” 

Wiley chuckled sympathetically. Moving in a way that looked almost practiced, the older demon strode forward and sat a few chairs away from where Ethan’s tail was starting to flick back and forth— though from what he could tell, Wiley’s was doing the same, albeit, slower. Less of an agitated thing, more of an idle movement. 

“A ghost did that?”

“Yeah, apparently he did, which was why she had the board and the plant-shed thing out to begin with.” Unable to keep his words from coming out as a growl, Ethan kept his eyes trained on Wiley’s. “Ain’t ghosts s’posed to be rare or some shit?”

Wiley made a noise of consideration in the back of his throat. “Usually,” he agreed, “but they ain’t usually alone— so your pair ain’t nothin’ t’get concerned about.”

_ Thanks for the trivia, teach.  _

His tail flicked a little faster. 

If Wiley noticed, he didn’t care. Instead, he leaned back a little where he was sitting and slung one leg over the other. “They shouldn’t give you much trouble. Hell, if  _ anything _ , they should be a bit of a bonus for ya.”

Ethan’s brow creased. “A bonus?” He echoed, unable to keep a confused lilt out of his words. “Th’ fuck is that supposed to mean— if anything, they’re just a pain in my—”

“They’ve still got  _ souls,  _ Green!” 

The interruption was spoken with a harsh laugh, coupled with the other demon shaking his head. “And uh… I dunno about  _ you _ , but if  _ I _ had the opportunity to snatch up a pair of extras?” The end of his sentence hung in the air for a moment before it broke into a soft chuckle. “I’d go for it.” 

He was  _ so _ much easier to read than Lex. 

Maybe it was because Ethan had spent so much time around the guy, but then again, it was hard to misread those glittering eyes and that smirk as he folded his hands, shaking his head slightly. “An’ they shouldn’t be giving you any trouble.”

Ethan crossed one arm against his chest. “See, that’s the thing,” he started, using the other one to give a sharp gesture, “they  _ are _ , because one of ‘em,  _ Emma _ —” he practically spat her name, lips twitching upward in distaste— “—keeps on getting Lex t’side with her! It’s  _ bullshit _ . I swear she’s got it out for me. I mean, it’s bad enough to be bossed around by someone I used t’go to  _ school _ with, but those two on top of it, it’s just…” Ethan gave a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Stretching out, swinging his leg idly, he tried his best to exhale without growling.

It almost worked.

The noise rumbled from his throat before he could even help it, not that he made much of an effort to hold it back. It wasn’t like Lex could hear him, so… 

“Can’t fuckin’  _ believe it _ , I mean, what’re the odds?”

Wiley’s eyebrows raised. “You went to  _ school _ with her?”

“Yeah, we had shop together for like… god, a year I think?” 

Shutting his eyes for a moment, Ethan pushed the memories away as they came. They were hazy, anyway, and it wasn’t like there were many of them left— memories from  _ before _ he’d been ended for whatever fucking reason his killers had had in mind and bled out, memories that came before the struggle to breathe and the sickening, coppery smell of his own blood and—

Fuck. 

_ There I fucking go again.  _

Just another reason thinking back on being alive didn’t go well. 

Most of it was blurred together, and from what little Ethan could recall, a good chunk of it wasn’t terrible, though compared to what he  _ could _ remember—

_ Cut that shit out. _

_ God. _

_ That’s the last fucking thing you need to be thinking about right now. _

It didn’t stop him from thinking about it. He only had like, six memories to begin with, and the most vivid one was how it had felt to crumple in a heap under a blow, how it felt when blood flooded his mouth and dropped past his lips to join a steadily growing puddle that soaked him to the bone, stained his skin, his shirt, his hands—

The noise of Wiley’s wings shifting pulled him back into the present and caused him to open one eye a crack. “That ain’t gonna be a...  _ problem  _ for you, is it?” He asked, his tone turning a little more wary. 

Ethan snorted. “What, that it’s someone I knew? Relax, Wiles.” Waving him off, Ethan shuffled his wings, letting one flop crookedly over his middle. “We ain’t friends— weren’t then and sure as hell ain’t now. If anything, she hates me  _ more _ .” 

_ Not that she liked me to begin with. _

With an irritated little sigh, Ethan rested his other hand over his wing. His claws tapped idly on the thin membrane. 

“Right, right,” Wiley agreed, bringing one clawed hand up to scratch behind one of his curled horns. “Just don’t want ya gettin’  _ attached _ , s’all.”

On the word “attached”, his tone darkened. 

It took all Ethan had in him not to roll his eyes. Christ, did he  _ really _ think he was that desperate? 

Lex Foster was a lot of things— irritating, smug, somewhat cocky— but likable sure as fuck wasn’t one of them. 

“Trust me, that ain’t gonna be a problem.”

“Good. ‘Cause you uh… know what happens if that  _ does _ become a problem,” he trailed off momentarily, bringing his claws up to fiddle with his sleeves before shooting Ethan a pointed glance, “correct?”

This time, Ethan  _ did _ roll his eyes. “Yeah, I know— relax, her soul’s as good as mine at this fuckin’ point,” he promised, flicking his tail for emphasis, “seriously, she has no idea what she’s doing. She’ll fuck up before she runs away with that fucking  _ kid _ — god, she’s probably the worst part of this whole damn thing— you said kids are more sensitive to this shit, right?”

Wiley made a vague so-so motion. “Usually,” he agreed. 

“Are they supposed t’be able to actually  _ see _ shit?”

Wiley’s expression changed. Darkened. It was a small change— something in his eyes, the way his pupils thinned, or maybe it was made obvious by the way he lowered his chin and raised his wings on his back, the rhythmic swishing of his tail stopping dead. “...she what?” 

His claws moved from where they’d grasped his sleeve, though Ethan paid it no mind, nodding and scratching the back of his head. 

“Yeah, she looked  _ right  _ at me— sees the ghosts, too. She ain’t all there in the head I don’t think, but I dunno, she just  _ knows _ ,” he explained, almost awkwardly. “Though I don’t think that matters none… right? I mean, the fuck is she gonna do? She’s just a kid— I ain’t even allowed to touch her, thanks to th’ contract— it’s not like she’s gonna be able to  _ actually _ do anythin’. She’s just a little kid.” 

Waving a hand dismissively, he shifted how he was lying to wrap his tail around his forearm. His claws clacked against its pointed end. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wiley frown, though he was quick to continue speaking. 

“The most she could do is like… god,  _ nothing _ . She ain’t gonna be a problem, an’ Lex ain’t gonna be a problem. Only  _ problem _ is gonna be that I’m on a time limit. S’posed to protect ‘em both until they can make a break for it.” 

Beside him, Wiley clicked his tongue almost sympathetically. “Well, for the record, you’re one of the most promisin’ demons I’ve seen in a  _ long _ time. Hell, if ya swing this right? You could probably nab  _ all _ of ‘em. The girls…” Lifting his hands, Wiley slowly drew them together in front of himself, “... _ and _ the ghosts,” he finished when his palms pressed together. 

Ethan frowned. 

“Sounds like a lotta extra work…” He mumbled, hand creeping up through his short hair to scratch the base of one of his horns. “An’ I thought I only needed  _ one _ soul, not what—”

_ Lex. _

_ Hannah. _

_ Paul. _

_ Emma. _

“ _ —four _ of ‘em.” 

Wiley nodded, releasing his hands from each other and raising them in front of himself. “Just a suggestion, Green,” he reassured, “still just takes you th’ one to earn your freedom, as promised. Figured it might sweeten th’ pot for all of us down here, but hey, you’re right… after all, you  _ are _ on a time limit.”

Ethan exhaled. From on his head, his hands trailed down to rest behind his neck. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a bitch to deal with— if I have time t’nab ‘em all, I will, but I fuckin’ doubt it’ll happen.”

“Sure, kid, whatever you need to do, so long as it happens…” Pulling his lips back to show off his fangs, Wiley rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug and returned to fiddling with his sleeves, “... _ eventually _ , capiche?” 

“Yeah, got it.” 

Biting his lip, Ethan slowly looked over at the other demon.

The spotlight cast Wiley’s face mostly into shadow— illuminating the sheen of his slicked-back hair alongside the shine of his buttons— though it didn’t do a thing to hide those eyes that were still focused idly on him. If anything, it made their glow seem more sinister. “...problem, Green?”

Ethan’s tail flicked in his grip. 

Inhaling slowly through his teeth, he held it just a little tighter to keep it from thrashing. “...not a problem, just…” 

“...just?” Wiley echoed, tilting his head.

“The deal… it’s still on, right? You ain’t gonna— I dunno, fuck me over if I  _ actually _ get ‘em to fuck up? All that shit we agreed on—”

Wiley interrupted him with a throaty laugh and a wave of his hand, the noise ringing out through the empty room and reverberating in a way that made something in Ethan’s stomach twist uncomfortably, though it disappeared the second he was offered a knowing smile. 

“‘Course it still stands. Ain’t nobody gonna notice if someone lookin’ a lot like some dead guy from a shitty smalltown shows up somewhere new— second chance is still on the table. You’ve got nothin’ t’worry about.”

Ethan shifted how he was sitting, smiling softly. “Right, sorry… just…  _ fuck _ , it’s weird to actually be  _ doing _ this, y’know?”

Wiley hummed, though the noise was quick to turn to a snicker. “Hey, I get it.”

“...ya do?” Ethan asked, doubtfully. 

“Well,  _ no _ , I ain’t ever felt no remorse—”

“No— it ain’t  _ remorse _ — I don’t feel fuckin’ bad about it.” 

As if he’d feel bad for someone who’d managed to summon a fucking  _ demon _ by accident. Sure, her situation sucked, but hey, a deal was a deal. That was how it worked— once you shook hands, that shit was set in stone. 

And Lex Foster wasn’t the first person who’d made a deal with Ethan Green.

Unfurling his wings from over himself in a small stretch, Ethan released his tail from his fingers. “Just makin’ sure our deal still stands.”

“‘Course it does.”

When Wiley stood, it was a slow thing— almost showy in the way he stretched out his wings, the sickly green color framing the black connecting bones changing the color of the solitary light. His tail cast a thin shadow that danced on the ground, and when he smiled, it was too wide for his face. 

His teeth glinted.

“Demons go back on a  _ lot _ of shit, Green— hell, we lie about  _ everythin’ _ we ain’t ordered t’tell the truth about— but a deal?” He shook his head, chuckling lightly. “A deal  _ always _ stands.”

_ Right. _

_ No getting out of this one. _

A grin fell across his face 

_ Thank fuck for that. _

_ Bastard’s gotta hold up his end of the bargain. _

Not that he didn’t like Wiley— as much as the dude used more grease in his hair than a shitty fast food joint did in their burgers— the guy had charm, along with  _ power _ . Yeah, his  _ appearance _ wasn’t all that threatening, but there was almost an aura that hung around him that radiated the energy of someone not to be fucked with despite his gangly appearance— fuck, even as he folded his wings, he still seemed like a larger than life character. 

His tail was lashing again. 

Slowly. 

His eyes were trained on Ethan where he sat in a way that made him feel as though he was under close inspection, the splayed out position he was in suddenly turning uncomfortable. 

Swinging his legs off the chair beside him, Ethan drew his wings up on his back and coughed slightly. “So,” he started, “how much longer until you’ve gotta send me back? I’ve enjoyed th’ little pep-talk or whatever th’ hell this was, really, ‘cause back there is sorta—” he cut himself off with a low noise an exaggerated wince, rising to his feet and stretching as he did. 

“—y’know, not ideal, but  _ this  _ can’t be easy for ya.”

The theater was nothing short of fucking  _ fantastic _ to look at, the lines clean and clear in a way that made it look almost  _ too _ good. Even turning to face the seats, despite the fact that the back of the room was bathed in complete blackness, Ethan could pick out the dim glow of an exit sign in the darkness. 

_ Jesus, how long has he been perfecting this? _

Moving to face Wiley yet again, Ethan heard the other demon give a low chuckle. 

“Don’t you go worryin’ about nothin’ like that,” Wiley assured him with a lazy flick of his wrist. His claws clicked lightly against his buttons, creeping up to his collar before yanking on it— jacket shifting how it sat on his shoulders. His twin dog tags jingled in time with his steps, and as Ethan watched, the spotlight moved in tandem with his long strides, meeting him in the middle of the stage.

His shadow swept over the theater. 

“Now, so long as th’ fact that’cha knew this girl ain’t gonna be a problem…” 

When his eyes met Ethan’s, he smirked.

“Aw, who am I kiddin’? You know better than that, don’t ya, Green?” His tail flicked, another laugh bubbling from him— the kind that felt almost condescending to listen to, private, even. Like it wasn’t supposed to be heard. “After all, you  _ do _ know what happens if ya  _ don’t  _ secure no human soul… correct?”

Ethan’s nostrils flared.

Ah.

Great.

_ Fuck,  _ would one conversation without mentions of  _ them  _ be too much to ask for?

Just the  _ thought  _ of those fucking  _ things  _ with their stupid grinning mouths and tacky green fur alone was enough to make Ethan’s wings rise defensively on his back. “Yeah, we’ve been over that,” he growled through his teeth— grit in as close to a smile as he could muster. 

They’d  _ more _ than fucking been over it. God. He could practically  _ feel  _ their beady little eyes on him, though he refused to turn around, keeping his eyes fixed on Wiley as he nodded.

“Good, good…” Murmuring the words out through his grin, Wiley paced back toward the seats, spotlight following him without a sound. “that’s good, ‘cause see, I like you, kid. You’ve got  _ potential _ .”

His claws rapped on the backrest of one of the chairs. With that same smile— always with that fucking smile— he dug the sharp points into the black plastic edge. “Though you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Ethan shrugged. “I mean, ya _ have  _ told me that before,” he agreed, scratching behind one of his horns. His tail twisted, wrapping tightly around his leg to a point where it might’ve hurt somebody who hadn’t already kicked the bucket.

Again, Wiley nodded. The spotlight danced across the greenish surface of his horns, illuminating the thin lines that ran around them in rings. “I’ll tell it to ya again, then: you’ve got potential.”

Ethan’s eyebrows twitched downward. 

Was that… a sincere compliment? From Wiley of all fucking people?

Opening his mouth to respond, Ethan was interrupted by another soft laugh and the sound of those claws tapping away on the chair’s back.

”...It’d be a real shame if you weren’t able to uh… get outta here an’ use it— I mean  _ really  _ use it.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat?” He asked, though Wiley waved him off with a quick flick of his wrist.

“Just a fact, Green,” he clarified, glancing down at his claws somewhat dismissively. His hand soon moved back to where it had been, and the second it did, that tapping started up again— harder this time. “That second chance you want?” He continued, voice jovial, yet flat in a way that Ethan couldn’t quite put his finger on— the false cheer in his voice darkening with every word. “I know you dreamed about startin’ over— runnin’ away an’ all that— sounds great, don’t it?”

Ethan didn’t respond with anything more than a shrug. 

He’d learned not to.

Wiley hadn’t been a bad mentor by any means, but  _ Jesus _ , the guy could  _ talk _ . Already, he could feel the seconds starting to tick by as those dark eyes bore into his own for what seemed like hours, the rapping of Wiley’s claws the only indication that time was passing at all. 

His tail flicked. 

Wiley hummed softly. “An’, y’know, Green, I think ya earned it— really, I do. So it’d be a real damn shame if ya didn’t get to follow through on ‘em just because you were stuck on some girl you knew an’ ended up not bein’ able to fill in  _ your _ half of our little… arrangement.” Stopping the tapping of his claws, Wiley broke the eye contact and smirked. “Wouldn’t it?” He drawled, the syllables harsh on his lips. 

Again, Ethan shrugged. 

Swallowed.

Stuck his hands in his pockets. 

“I’ll get it done,” he mumbled, voice a near growl. In his pockets, his fingers were curling into fists. His claws dug into his palms, though he paid it no mind, still watching Wiley closely as the other demon smirked. 

“I know.”

“Good.” 

Silence fell between them, and although it didn’t last long, it was enough to make Ethan’s skin prickle under his jacket, though before he could comment on it—

“You remember what you were sayin’ before I pulled ya outta there?” 

_ Fuck. _

It must’ve shown on his face.

Wiley snickered. “Tough break, kid,” he got out with a laugh. “Well. Best of luck.” 

The spotlight flickered out before Ethan could get a word in, and like that, he was surrounded by blackness despite the fact that his eyes were open. 

_ Great. _

* * *

Something in his expression changed. 

Lex couldn’t put her finger on what it was that was different— it was only a fucking second since he’d closed his eyes and growled— but when his eyes settled on her once more, there was a different sort of light in them. His pupils were round— the change sudden enough to catch her completely off guard. 

_ What the fuck? _

Although his teeth were still bared in a bit of a snarl, it looked as though it had faltered, if only a little bit, and when his breath left him, it was more of a sigh than a hiss. 

Beside her, Emma narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for not finishing that sentence,” she grumbled.

Like that, his scowl was back to where it had been.

His pupils thinned out in an instant, returning to the slits Lex had come to dread as he opened up his wings and gave a gruff bark of a laugh in return. “Whatever. Look. Can I take the couch for the night, or is that gonna be some big problem for you?” 

“You sleep?” 

It was hard not to hear the slight twinge of jealousy in Emma’s voice when she spoke up, and when Lex looked over to where the ghost was hovering, it was written across her face in bold print. 

“I don’t  _ need  _ to,” Ethan explained in a grumble, his tail back to swishing—  _ when did it even stop? _ — to a point where the end whacked the legs of the table, “but I think it’d be better to be fuckin’ asleep than it would be to have you hovering over me every time I  _ blink _ , okay?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. 

Without so much as another word, he breezed past Lex and stuck his hands into his pockets, practically sauntering into the shitty living room without a care in the world, tail trailing behind him. 

Lex made no move to stop him. 

_ He’s just… leaving?  _

Well, he wasn’t  _ leaving _ , but the fact that he’d just fucked off of his own volition… didn’t sit right with her. Crossing her arms, Lex dug her fingers into her sleeves. “So… that’s it?” She asked, struggling not to sound awkward. “You’re just… what, you’re gonna take a nap?”

Following him, Emma’s cold on her side making her feel a little less alone, she watched as Ethan strode over to the couch, scoffing as she did. 

“And that’s— that’s just  _ it _ , you’re not gonna try killing me, or Hannah, you’re just—”

She was interrupted by him unfurling his wings and flopping ungracefully across the cushions on his back, one wing slinging lazily over him, the other splaying out across the floor, all while his legs hung over the armrest along with his lazily flicking tail. “Problem?” 

Lex bit her lip. 

His eyes were half-lidded already, though his pupils were stil twin, thin lines, even when he blinked and shot her a crooked smile.

She didn’t return it. 

“I’m still keeping an eye on you,” Emma mumbled as Ethan shifted how he was lying, folding his other wing neatly over himself. 

“Knock yourself out.” 

Without another word, the demon turned on his side and curled his tail neatly around his legs. His eyes drifted closed, though not before he shot Lex one more measured glance, those cat eyes gleaming in the dark before they disappeared from view. “ _ I’m _ going the fuck to sleep.”

“...right.” 

_ He’s actually… going to sleep.  _

He barely even  _ fit _ on the damn couch. If he was going to sleep there, it was going to be uncomfortable as anything— not that she cared— but it just seemed… fuck, something about it wasn’t right. Unease was settling over her again, and even as she shared a look with Emma, the equally confused expression she was wearing didn’t do shit for her nerves. 

When Emma spoke, her voice barely rose above a whisper. “...as much as I hate agreeing with that prick,” she started, turning her back to where he was lying on the couch, “… you  _ really _ should get some sleep if you’re working in the morning. Can’t have you looking more dead than I do.”

Lex arched a brow, eyes flicking down to the bloodied mess of Emma’s legs. “I don’t think that’s possible.” 

Emma made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. “Maybe for the next couple hours, sure,” she reasoned in response to Lex’s deadpan tone, “but once you get into work tomorrow with zero sleep on your side, well… I may be a ghost, but at least I’m not a  _ zombie _ . Get some rest.”

She snorted in response. 

She  _ almost _ laughed, but when she inhaled, her eyes fell upon Ethan where he was lying and the noise caught behind her lips. She could barely see him over Emma’s shoulder, but between the ghost’s transparency and the fact that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness—

“Hey, eyes off him.” 

—Emma drifted up a few inches to block her view. “That’s my job. I know I’m not your babysitter or anything, but I’ve done the whole ‘morning shift after an all-nighter’ song and dance bullshit before— and lemme tell you, it is  _ not _ worth it.” 

“Didn’t you work at the coffee shop?” 

It looked almost like Emma was going to smile. Not moving from where she was, she nodded. “Yeah, though it wasn’t like being  _ around _ coffee helped me stay awake. You get used to the smell, and by then…” Breaking into a groan, she gave a low sigh. “Look, my  _ point _ is that you’re still alive and  _ can _ sleep, so cherish that shit.” 

This time, Lex couldn’t hold back a small laugh— one that pulled from her before she could even attempt to stop it. “Yeah, I…” Raising a hand to rub at her eyes, she could practically  _ feel _ the adrenaline that had spiked through her veins draining out of her, leaving her with her eyelids drooping and her head feeling empty. “...wake me up if he starts… I dunno—”

“You banned him from freaky demon shit,” Emma interrupted, “and I’ll be  _ fine _ . Seriously, I’ve already fucking died, he can’t really do anything else.” Smiling softly, albeit, with a twinge of tiredness in it, the ghost gave a small sigh and waved Lex off. “Now get outta here, I’m switching you out for Paul, you’re too boring when you’re tired.”

Another laugh escaped her. Even as Emma floated closer and she turned her back, she couldn’t keep a snide remark from slipping past her lips. 

“And he’s  _ not _ ?” 

She didn’t turn around, but in her mind’s eye, she could practically see Emma’s scandalized expression before the ghost broke into a full laugh. “God, I should possess you for that one.”

Lex’s eyebrows raised. “Can you do that?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, if you ever wanna work a shift at the worst fuckin’ toystore in Hatchetfield,” she grumbled, turning over her shoulder to shoot Emma a smile, “figure it out.” 

In response, Emma offered a two-fingered salute and a smile that seemed so much more alive than the irritated expression she’d worn every time Ethan opened his mouth. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yeah, I’ll pass on that. Worked in customer service for… god, almost a year here? Gonna have to pass.”

Lex nodded in understanding, though as she turned, a frown settled on her face. 

_ A year? _

_ Is she not from here? _

Not wanting to ask, Lex brushed the thought aside and closed the distance between herself and her and Hannah's room, though when she reached for the door handle, she stopped and looked back to Emma. “Hey, I… thanks,” she mumbled, “for watching him, and for helping with Hannah, it… seriously.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. Gotta make up for ruining your sleep schedule somehow, right?” 

“By fixing it now?”

Emma snapped her fingers. “ _ Exactly! _ ” She agreed, shooting Lex a pair of fingerguns. “Gotta start sometime, and I’m picking now.” 

Lex snickered under her breath. “Fine, fine, I’m going,” she surrendered, running her fingers through her hair. “...night, I guess.”

“G’night, Lex,” Emma returned. 

For a moment, if she squinted, it almost looked like Emma was standing on the floor. Her shape seemed more solid than it had a moment ago, less like it’d disappear in an instant and more like that of an actual  _ person _ .

In a weird way, it was almost comforting. 

She wouldn’t have to watch her own back. Not tonight. 

Technically, if the ghosts had been there since they’d moved in, she hadn’t been watching her back alone at  _ all _ , but being able to actually see another person, no matter how alive said person was… 

_ And another person who isn’t Ethan fucking Green. _

Smiling, she offered Emma an awkward wave before pushing open the door of her and Hannah’s shared bedroom. 

There was a figure sitting on the floor. 

It took every ounce of her self control to keep from screaming. 

Heart leaping into her throat as the door swung shut behind her, Lex almost automatically fell into a fighting stance— shoulders squared and hands raised, though the second the figure looked up—

_ Oh.  _

—all the fight went out of her. 

_ Paul.  _

_ Right.  _

_ He’s here.  _

He looked almost as startled as she did. When he stood, the motion was quick— coupled with him shooting a good few inches off the ground. “I… she’s asleep, but she asked me to stay, a-and nothing seemed like it was going wrong f-from what I could hear,” he explained in a rush, tripping over his syllables like untied shoelaces, “s-so I… I lost track of time—”

Lex barely heard it. 

She was too focused on looking at Hannah were she was curled on her side, stuffed spider in her arms. The comforter was drawn up around her, and from what Lex could see of her face, she was completely asleep— not smiling in sleep, but certainly looking peaceful. That heaviness that was usually there on her face looked as though it had lifted in a way— hell, as far as Lex knew, the fact that her brows weren’t creased was a fucking accomplishment on Paul’s part.

Glancing at Paul, Lex tuned back into his words. He was still touching the floor, but barely— his heels the only parts of him still anywhere near grounded— and even then, it looked like he was mere seconds from drifting away entirely. 

“—I… guess I’ll let you get to sleep, then,” he mumbled, “It… it’s probably late.” 

“Yeah, it’s nearly one,” Lex agreed, though instead of stepping past him when he moved aside, she stood her ground, meeting his eyes. 

_ God, it’s like he’s permanently nervous. _

It was something about the shape of his face coupled with the blue of his eyes that made him look as though he was on the verge of some breakdown every time he did so much as blink, and now was no different.

He looked as though he was trying to make himself smaller. 

_ Say something.  _

With a small sigh, Lex raised a hand to fiddle with the name tag pinned to her feet before offering Paul a smile. “Thanks,” she mumbled, doing her damndest to keep her tone from turning flat despite how tired she was. “I… for looking out for Hannah, with the light—“

“Don’t thank me for that,” Paul interrupted, “I didn’t mean to break it… and you’re going to have to pick up a new one—“

“It’s fine.” 

He stopped. 

Again, Lex tried to offer him a smile, though she exhaled sharply through her teeth and broke the eye contact they’d shared. “Honestly, if it helped Hannah, it’s okay.” Moving to shrug off her vest, she let the gaudy pink material flop to the floor. “A lightbulb’s the  _ least _ of my worries right now.” 

_ And the biggest worry I have is currently napping on the fucking couch. _

Her hoodie came next, and when she dropped it to the ground, standing in her t-shirt and beaten jeans, she looked back over to Paul. “Just don’t make a habit out of it and we should be okay.”

Paul gave a small, nervous laugh in return. “Deal.” 

Already, he was starting to drift backward to the door, and as Lex watched, he nodded his head and awkwardly tucked his hands into his pockets. “I… I should let you get some sleep. It… it was nice meeting you...” Trailing off, he cleared his throat and began to fidget with his hands. “Meeting you  _ properly _ ,” he corrected after a moment. 

_ I don’t think any part of this has been close to proper. _

Most proper meetings didn’t involve a board, or an accidental blood sacrifice, or, y’know, ghosts or a demon, but Lex managed to bite back the remark all the same, settling for a small nod. 

_ Nice to meet  _ **_ you _ ** _.  _

_ And Emma.  _

Pushing away thoughts of the third person who’d decided to show himself, Lex rolled her shoulders and glanced down to where Paul’s feet should’ve been touching the floor. There wasn’t even a  _ shadow _ beneath him despite the fact that he seemed… almost like a solid person. Hell, if Lex squinted in the darkness, she could almost pretend that he wasn’t floating in the air between her and the door, and that his cuffs weren’t stained red with blood. 

For a few seconds, there was silence between them. 

Paul broke it by giving a sharp cough. 

“Well. I’ll let you sleep,” he announced with an awkward nod, lifting himself off the ground entirely and phasing most of the way through the door, though not before he met her eyes one last time and gave a tight looking smile. “Goodnight, Lex.” 

Lex snorted in response. 

“Goodnight, Paul,” she returned. Not that tonight  _ was _ actually a good night or anything like that. God. Tonight, as far as she was concerned, was fucking  _ awful _ — hell, it wasn’t even  _ night _ anymore if she remembered correctly— but the second that Paul left her line of sight, she was almost comforted by the fact as much as the night had been fucking awful, it was  _ over _ . 

Technically. 

Whatever. In her mind, it was close enough. 

Finally kicking her shoes off, Lex slumped ungracefully across her bed with a sigh and halfway threw a blanket over herself before burying her face in her pillow and blocking out the world completely. 

Falling asleep in a  _ literally fucking haunted house _ shouldn’t have been so easy, but as Lex shifted in an attempt to get comfortable, she really,  _ really _ couldn’t have cared less. 

Fuck it. If she was dead by morning, Ethan would be out of a job, and she wouldn’t have to deal with his bullshit. 

Win-win.


	11. 'scuse me (sorry to barge in)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lex is taking a trip to Egypt, since she's so damn deep in De-Nile

The alarm had been going off for about thirty seconds, and already, Lex was wishing that her phone had fucking died in the night. Sure, it would’ve made her late to work, but in all honesty? Frank could sit on a fucking tack for all she cared. Nobody came into toyzone at eight in the fucking morning— the mall didn’t properly open until  _ eleven— _ except for, apparently, Lex Foster. 

Something to do with stocking and price checking and… ugh.

_ That, and the fact that you’re not going to the mall early to do a legal job. _

Even though it was nothing new, internally, it made her roll her eyes. 

The buzzing from her back pocket continued to blare on through the relative silence as she stretched out and blinked a few times, the darkness of the surrounding area coupled with the warmth of her blankets enough to make her curl up tighter and groan under her breath. Crashing after a late night was always the best feeling ever, especially when she had time to  _ actually  _ sleep before getting up, but this? 

This was bullshit.

Not that she could do anything about it. Because she was a slave to capitalism first and a human being second— the wonders of working a full time job instead of going to school never seemed to cease.

With one last soft grumble under her breath that would’ve been a colourful curse had her brain been functioning like that of someone  _ awake _ , Lex awkwardly pushed the blankets off herself and made quick work of her phone’s alarm, though not before she caught sight of the battery level. 

_ Shit, I need to charge it. _

...seven percent could last her through her shift, right? 

Not that she had much choice in the matter. 

Whatever. It wasn’t like she used it for anything other than bugging Alice during her lunch break anyways, and Alice was currently on a temporary reprieve from whatever cursed images she could find, thanks to—

She froze.

A funeral.

Alice had been going to a funeral.

And not just  _ any  _ funeral, no, she was going to the funeral of Paul Matthews and Emma Perkins, who’d happened to own the house she was living in—  _ who were apparently still there _ .

Like that, the warmth she’d felt from her blanket cocoon faded, leaving her with a cold chill that wrapped around her like a living thing. Her skin prickled. When she sat up, the motion was slow, cautious, as though there was some animal in her room that would pounce on her if she moved too quickly. 

_...was that real? _

A couple of hazy images flashed across the back of her mind. 

Her heart started to pound. Her palms turned sweaty. 

Fuck. She needed to get a grip. 

She’d probably just had some weird dream, that was all— her brain had taken the fact that she lived in the home of a dead couple and twisted it into some shitty teen horror flick, and now that she was awake… it was over. Just some nightmare that had been a combination of secondhand grief from Alice and her fucked up mind trying to explain away the shattered lightbulb in the kitchen, because if that  _ wasn’t _ the case, that meant that it was—

_ No. _

Absolutely fucking not. 

Pushing the thought away as it came, Lex carefully slung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up somewhat groggily, giving one more good stretch as she did. 

_ Fuck you, past me, for deciding sleeping in jeans was a good idea.  _

For the record, it totally wasn’t. Maybe an  _ easy _ idea, and maybe a  _ repeated _ one to a point where it was less of an idea and more of a routine— a habit, really— but as much as it usually seemed like it wouldn’t be  _ that bad _ come morning, it was almost always worse than she remembered. 

Her legs felt stiff as she forced herself into motion, and even when she bent them, she swore she could hear her bones clicking against each other, which wasn’t exactly a fun sound to be hearing at early-ass-o-clock in the morning. 

_ Focus.  _

_ Gotta be there early. _

Bending over, Lex carefully tugged on the hoodie and vest she’d discarded on the floor the night prior before her gaze drifted to Hannah where she slept, still hugging that stuffed spider. Her hair was barely in braids anymore— one of the elastics looked like it had slipped out of place entirely— leaving her with nothing but a frayed set of longish ponytails. The comforter had shifted from where it had been strewn over her shoulders. 

Without thinking, Lex stepped forward and carefully adjusted it. 

“Mornin’, Banana,” she greeted just under a whisper as her sister stirred minutely in her sleep. 

_ She was up late last night, wasn’t she? _

Hannah usually got up fairly early. Lex couldn’t count the number of times she’d woken up and dragged her bleary ass into the kitchen only to see Hannah contentedly sketching away at the table, usually with a piece of toast. 

From the woozy feeling behind her eyes, it was pretty obvious Hannah wasn’t the only one who’d stayed up later than she’d meant to, though the  _ reason _ she’d stayed up late had been replaced by flashes of some fucked up dream. 

Her head had taken the article she’d read and fucking ran with it, apparently. 

It made sense. 

Between the weird shit that had been happening and the fact that she’d moved into a house belonging to a pair of dead people, it only made sense that her brain would compensate by giving her some crackhead dream. 

It had to have been a dream. 

After all, why else would  _ Ethan fucking Green _ have showed up with wings and a tail? It was ridiculous— both the concept, and the fact that she’d even managed to remember the way he’d looked so well despite the fact that he’d kicked it a year ago, right down to his stupid speech patterns and head-tilt that he did whenever he was about to say something idiotic. 

Absently running her fingers along the side of the blanket, Lex couldn’t help a small sigh. “...I’ll probably be gone before you wake up, but you’ll have Webby to keep you company, ‘kay?” 

Webby, and—

_ No. _

Again, a chill coursed over her. Her heart rate hadn’t settled since she’d woken up, and when a certain name crossed her mind, it only increased in speed, thundering away like it was trying to burst out of her chest. 

_ Stop. _

_ That was just a dream.  _

A vivid one, but a dream nonetheless. 

Hannah didn’t respond with anything other than a shift of her weight under the blanket. 

Lex smiled. 

“Right,” she breathed, returning her hand to her side. 

_ She’s completely out. _

Perfect. 

Kneeling beside Hannah’s bed, Lex pulled her focus off of where her little sister slept, instead, glancing down to the floorboards just in front of her. This part was always easier when Hannah wasn’t in the room. It was harder to feel guilty about keeping secrets when the person she was keeping it from was  _ right fucking there _ , but in her defence, paying for a shitty trailer house on top of her mother’s booze wasn’t exactly something a just-above-minimum-wage job at ToyZone could do on its own. 

Which was why that wasn’t her only source of income. 

It was  _ also _ the only reason she’d managed to hide away a couple of stashes of bills under the floorboards. 

Biting her lip, she ran her nails along the edge of the board, fingers falling to the loose spot that she could probably find in her sleep. They hadn’t lived in the trailer home long, but there was one constant Lex had found no matter what house they lived in. 

No matter where they’d ended up, there was always something wrong— a loose board, a spot in the wall— they were the constants that had marked every move. The last place had a brick loose under the front steps she’d managed to wedge a box behind, and the one before that had a spot on the wall where the drywall had peeled off  _ just _ enough for her to fit a rolled up paper bag into, and those weren’t even the best spots. 

This one was pretty high on the list. 

Both in terms of how cliche it was, and how genuinely  _ perfect _ of a spot it had proven to be. 

Shifting how she knelt, Lex carefully pressed one hand to the edge of the floorboard closest to her and pushed down on it. 

Like clockwork, the other edge of the wooden board popped up under the pressure. 

Bingo. 

It was easy enough after that to hook her fingers under the edge of the beam and gently tug it free from where it was set in the floor, though she made sure not to let it clatter when she pushed it aside. Hannah’s breathing was still soft and steady, and damn it, it was staying that way for at least another ten minutes. Just long enough for her to get out of the house without any questions. 

Keeping secrets from Hannah sucked, but in her defence, how the fuck was she supposed to explain to Hannah that she was a drug dealer? 

Just  _ thinking  _ about it made her grimace.

_ Hey, Hannah, I sell people illegal plants for a living.  _

_ No, it’s perfectly fine— I’ve been doing it for a few years now and look where that’s gotten us.  _

Yeah, that was gonna be a hard fucking no. 

Reaching into the hiding place, Lex was quick to grab a plastic baggie with a couple green nuggets in the bottom before sticking it into the pocket of her hoodie and moving to slide the board back in place. It was just an eighth, which wasn’t exactly worth a super huge amount of money, but thirty bucks was thirty bucks no matter where it came from.

This thirty bucks in particular would be coming from Deb.

Deb, who wanted to meet up at the ass crack of dawn because it was better cover or some shit like that, which… almost made sense. It was still dark outside from what Lex could tell— in that weird hazy time after the streelights had gone out but before the sun had risen— though for how much longer… 

Popping the board back into place, Lex stood and jammed the loose end down with her heel.

She needed to get moving. 

With a small sigh, she looked back to Hannah who was still sleeping soundly, and after a moment’s hesitation, she brushed her little sister’s bangs out of her eyes with a gentle hand, though when she did… 

She caught sight of the dark, blotchy bruise decorating Hannah’s face. 

Her heart twisted. 

It looked so much worse than it had yesterday. Overnight, the damn thing had swollen, turning an ugly shade of purple that streaked across Hannah’s cheek and made her freckles stand out against the dark shades. Parts of it looked almost  _ black _ , and although Lex knew it was probably just the shadows of the room making things look worse than they were, it didn’t change the fact that she could make out the thin shapes of fingerprints stretching across Hannah’s skin. 

Her hands curled into fists at her side. 

_ Fuck _ . 

Things like that always looked worse in the morning, and the handprint on Hannah’s cheek was no exception, but it still made Lex feel sick to her stomach to look at. 

_ I’ll pick up something for that.  _

A bruise like that one was going to take a fucking age to fade away, which meant she’d have to break out her cosmetics and take a crack at it, and yeah, she could pick up some pills to make it ache less at night, but… 

She looked away when Hannah inhaled and quietly rolled to her other side. 

That was just another reason why she had to be on time. 

Taking a moment to listen to the quiet of the house, Lex carefully rested her fingers on the doorknob for a moment before grabbing it, though when she did, something brushed against her palm. 

Her breath caught in her throat. 

Pulling her hand away and glancing down at it slowly, Lex winced upon seeing a bandage slapped haphazardly across her palm— the cotton pad under the adhesive a dark red in colour.

Shit.

Right.

Mentally adding lightbulbs to the list alongside pain medication—  _ fuck, and more bandages, that too _ — again, she moved her hand to the doorknob.

Again, she hesitated. 

_ I’m forgetting something. _

It was  _ right there  _ in her mind, though try as she might to recall what had happened before she’d crashed for the night, she was coming up empty. She remembered… candles, because the kitchen light had blown, along with… 

_...did I really steal one of those boards? _

_ Or did I dream that? _

_ God _ , she hoped it was the latter. That’d be a great impulse snatch to explain away. There was something about the whole thing that just seemed so ridiculous in hindsight. Maybe it was that fabled early morning clarity or some shit like that, but the more Lex thought about the situation, the less sense it made that she’d just… panicked the way she did.

The bed shaking could’ve been a truck passing by or something late at night, and as for the cold spots— it was November in  _ Hatchetfield _ , fuck’s sake. The whole damn  _ town _ was a cold spot, and Hannah was  _ always _ saying cryptic shit— though when it  _ did _ line up with things, it was never wrong…

Lex’s fingers curled around the bandaged part of her hand again. Her nails bit into her skin.

Which was stupid— she shouldn’t have been nervous— it was just a  _ dream,  _ and not even a  _ convincing  _ one at that. Just a bullshit dream with a couple she’d seen a picture of and some guy she barely knew. 

That was it. 

When she raised her good hand to the door, she couldn’t keep the fingers of her opposite hand from twitching when she grasped the doorknob no matter how hard she tried.

_ Stop it. _

_ It was just a dream. _

...but why did it feel like it  _ wasn’t?  _ Why did it feel like the metal under her fingers was just a little too cold, and why did it—

_ For fuck’s sake. _

Gritting her teeth, she swung the door open to reveal—

_ Knew it. _

—absolutely nothing. 

No ghosts. No winged Ethan Green with a taunting voice and a dangerous smile. No sign of her mom, either, which was possibly the best thing of all.

She exhaled.

_ Was that so bad? _

No. It wasn’t. 

Of course it wasn’t. 

Shaking her head, Lex gave a small laugh in the back of her throat. She could feel her stiffness beginning to drain away with every step she took out of the room and into the hallway. Even though the world outside their bedroom was dark, in a way, it was comforting to know that the lights hadn’t been turned on since she’d been out last. Nothing had changed. She was alone. 

Pushing open the bathroom door with a sigh, she made her way to the sink and grabbed her toothbrush from its stand, pointedly ignoring looking in the crooked mirror. If she looked even  _ half _ as tired as she felt, she probably looked like a fucking racoon rather than a person with frazzled hair to match. 

She didn’t bother to turn on the lights. 

Instead, she started to brush her teeth and ran her fingers through her matted hair—  _ fuck, I should’ve brushed it out yesterday _ — with a small groan. 

_...maybe it doesn’t look that bad. _

Maybe the creases in her clothes from sleeping in them and the bags under her eyes would make it look like she’d been at a party rather than having a seance in the kitchen by herself. 

Her grip on the toothbrush tightened a smidge.  _ Fuck _ , she  _ had _ nicked that board. That’d explain the dream feeling so vivid— she’d probably started it, gotten bored, then bailed once nothing had happened—

_ Did something happen— _

Yeah. 

Nothing had happened. 

That sounded right. 

The fact that she’d even  _ believed _ that something had actually fucking popped up was sort of pathetic if she was being honest. Probably a side effect of seeing too many horror movies too young— though in her defence, sneaking into the Cineplex was criminally easy— usually they had to leave the back door open in the summer months thanks to some problem with the ventilation, and they sure as hell didn’t have enough staff to keep a lookout. 

Not that she’d ever minded. 

It had meant she hadn’t had to spend any extra money to get a night out of the house— sometimes accidentally, seeing as she’d creep back only to have been locked out, which sucked— not that she had any extra cash to spend. 

_ Are we even out of pain meds? _

Spitting in the sink, she carefully flipped open the bathroom mirror’s cabinet and groggily flicked her eyes over its contents, eyes narrowing slightly upon seeing a couple of half-emptied bottles… shit.

_ She must’ve used the last of them after the last time she’d tripped hauling her sorry ass out the door.  _

Great. 

Another fifteen dollars spent on medication she shouldn’t have had to buy. 

With her shoddy paycheck and side deal, she’d have enough to cover everything, she  _ knew _ she would, but it still made a knot form in her stomach to think about it. Fuck’s sake, it was too early to be having a crisis about her paycheck— the sun was  _ just _ starting to come up— not that her thoughts would pull away from how she was going to cover all of this, no matter how had she tried. 

Just another thing she didn’t get to choose. 

Damn it. This wasn’t a normal part of being eighteen. Eighteen year olds were supposed to be able to go to parties, and hang out with other people their age, and finish highschool instead of dropping out to try making more money from their shitty jobs.

Leaning against the counter, Lex gritted her teeth, looked up, and pushed the bathroom mirror back into place with a bang. 

A pair of eyes gleamed in the reflection over her shoulder. 

A deafening snarl broke the silence. 

She did the first thing she could think to do.

* * *

He knew the fact that he’d been standing there for an hour for his little plan to work was  _ completely fucking worth it _ the second Lex reacted to his presence with a shrill, terrified shriek and jumped backward, slamming her hip against the sink with a crash. 

_ Fucking nailed it.  _

It had been a little bit of a hassle to pick the  _ exact _ right spot to stand where the door wouldn’t clip him when she came in, and picking the right expression with his lips pulled back just enough to show off his fangs, wings unfurled, and his chin pointed downward in an attempt to highlight his horns had been a little bit of work, he had to admit but that  _ scream _ —

Oh, it was so fucking worth it just to see her just about hit the fucking ceiling. 

“Good mornin’ to ya, too, Lexie,” he chirped, false cheer dripping from his voice, snickering as she struggled to brace herself on legs that didn’t seem to want to hold her up. “Sleep okay?” 

She didn’t respond. 

It didn’t look like she  _ could _ . 

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and from the look of it, she was trying to form words. 

He smirked. 

“Jesus, what, someone hit the mute button?” 

Folding his wings, he took a step closer to her.

She looked almost like she was trying to phase through the countertop. It was sure as shit a contrast from the tired teenager who’d looked ready to pass out on her feet— not that she  _ didn’t  _ look like she was about to pass out on the floor in a heap, but that was for a completely different reason. 

“Y-You’re not real,” she whimpered out, her voice shaking and shuddering, “th-this isn’t— this isn’t happening—”

_ Really? _

_ We’re back here again?  _

_ Fuck _ , that was annoying. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected there to be a little disbelief, but  _ really?  _ Fucking  _ really? _

A groan escaped him, effectively cutting her off. Bringing one hand to his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose, dragging his claws across his pale skin while waving one hand dismissively above his head. “No, no— we did all that  _ yesterday _ ,” he grumbled, “last night? You freaked out about  _ me _ , and then you freaked out about the  _ ghosts _ — can we skip all that and just get right to where we left off? I mean, god, you’ve got a mute button— ain’t you got a fast forward?” 

Her fingers dug into the edge of the sink. Her hands were trembling, and when she inhaled, the sound was harsh. “Where we left…” She echoed, hoarsely, before shaking her head and screwing her eyes shut. “No, you’re just a  _ dream! _ ” 

When he stepped closer, she managed to stand her ground, though from the look of it— from her drawn up shoulders and her shaky legs— it was taking everything she had to keep from bolting past him into the hall. Her fingers were twitching at her side, the pattern quick, almost frenzied. 

“You’re just—” she sputtered, locking eyes with him, _ “fuck _ , this isn’t  _ real— _ I’m dreaming—”

Without missing a beat, Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Does that make me your dream guy? I’m flattered.” 

Disgust flashed across her face. “N-No, it doesn’t—” stuttering herself into silence, she set her jaw and squared her shoulders before trying again, “that’s not what I meant, you asshole!”

“It’s sorta what’cha  _ said _ though,” he wheedled, making no effort to keep a smug smirk off his face. 

After all, why should he? It wasn’t like she could actually  _ do _ anything about it, other than glare, but that really only encouraged him to give a soft laugh in the back of his throat. 

It was almost like she was  _ trying  _ to be a joke. First, she’d summoned him accidentally, then brushed him off as a dream…  _ Jesus _ , it was sad. Winding his tail lightly around his forearm, CEthan leaned up against the wall next to the door and cocked his head. “So,” he drawled, “what’s the plan for today?”

She shot him an incredulous look in response. 

Not a word came out of her mouth, though from the look in her eyes, Ethan could pretty well guess what was going on in her head. 

Fear, mostly. Disbelief. Maybe a bit of denial in there, too, and a little anger— but fear was definitely the primary emotion. 

It intensified when Ethan shot her a grin. 

“...something wrong?” He asked, feigning innocence. 

The silence between them seemed heavier than it had a moment ago.

It lasted about three more seconds before she tried to storm past him, sticking one of her hands into the pocket of her sweater, the other still twitching at her side. Her strides were short and shaky— hell, one good sneeze would probably knock her over— but by some miracle she managed to get into the hallway without her legs buckling. 

He made no move to stop her. Instead, he followed a little ways behind her with his hands in his pockets, tail flicking lazily behind him. “Oh, so you’re ignoring me? That’s real mature of you.” 

“You’re not real,” she returned, evenly, “so yeah, I am. Now shut up and—”

Emma careened through the wall in front of her. “Lex?” 

This time, when she sprang back, there was no sink to brace her, and before Ethan could do so much as attempt to step out of the way, her back crashed into his chest with a dull thump. Automatically, his arms rose to push her away, though he didn’t get a chance to do it.

The second her body connected with his, something surged through him, tingling across his skin. 

Something warm. 

Something human

Something  _ alive.  _

_ Oh.  _

So  _ that _ was what Wiley meant when he said the living had energy. 

His hands froze on either side of her. His tail stopped dead on the floor. Even through his shirt and her hoodie, he could feel it, that life that pulsed in time with her heartbeat— he could fucking  _ feel _ it trickling into his body, albeit, weakly, not that it mattered how strong it was. It still had the same effect. 

His pupils rounded. 

A shaky breath escaped him. 

_ Shit, _ he hadn’t been expecting it to feel like  _ this.  _ He’d assumed Wiley had been exaggerating when he said it’d be addictive— sort of like those high and mighty fucks that had warned him against cigarettes—  _ seriously _ , who the hell did they think they were fooling? They’d been right, not that he really cared, but maybe if they hadn’t been such  _ assholes _ about it, he wouldn’t have kept at it to begin with. 

But as Lex trembled against him, he suddenly understood that this was  _ different.  _

Wiley hadn’t been exaggerating at  _ all _ . 

Struggling to remember how to breathe, not that it really mattered, Ethan felt the scowl on his face soften without his permission, and even if it was only for a second, just before she stumbled away from him like she’d been burned, he almost swore he felt something in his chest.

A soft beat. 

Just for a second. 

It might’ve had something to do with the fact that she’d nailed him with her elbow when she’d fallen with enough force that a living person probably would’ve buckled— though all it made Ethan do was exhale a little harder than he’d meant to. 

Emma stayed where she was, hands raising defensively in front of her. “Lex, hey, easy,” she prompted, moving backward when Lex cowered in front of her, “ _ shit _ , I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you— Paul and I were just outside, and when I came back in,  _ this _ asshole wasn’t on the couch.” 

_ Wow, right outta the gate with that, huh? _

There wasn’t even an  _ attempt _ to be nice on her part from the sound of it. Not so much as a “good morning, how are you?”  _ before _ she came for him and decided to call him an asshole. 

...not that he thought he didn’t deserve it or anything, but she could’ve at  _ least _ picked a reason, other than the fact that she just disliked him. 

Eyebrows shooting up on his forehead, Ethan rolled his shoulders and let out a sigh before returning his hands to his pockets. 

“Good morning to you, too.” 

If she heard him, she didn’t bother responding. 

“I know we said we’d watch him, and we  _ did _ , but watching some teenager sleep…” Sighing, she brought one hand up to push her hair back under her beanie, adjusting it on her head in a way that made it pretty obvious she was doing it to avoid meeting Lex’s eyes. “Sorry,” she finished, lamely. “I shouldn’t be making excuses, we went out to check out the sunrise and just—”

“You left a demon unsupervised in my living room.” Lex finished for her, her voice flat. “Thanks for that.” 

Emma winced. 

“Well,  _ no _ , not exactly,” she started to say, though Ethan cut her off with a snort. 

“She totally fuckin’ did,” he clarified with a flick of his tail and a halfway glare in her direction when she huffed at him. “But hey— whatever. No hard feelings, now that we’re all up to speed…” For the second time this morning, he looked to Lex expectantly. “What’re you doin’ up before th’ sun, anyway?” 

Like that, Lex was back to being unreadable. 

Bugger. 

The worst part was that she was doing it on purpose, he could fucking  _ tell _ she was just by the way she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes in his direction. “Working, Green.” 

“Before the mall opens?” 

Working at the shitty Lakeside Mall Cineplex hadn’t exactly been something he thought he’d ever be thankful for, but when Lex’s mouth snapped shut, he couldn’t help but feel a small rush of gratitude for those stupid morning shifts where he’d had to clean the cinema from top to bottom. 

Tail wrapping around his forearm, Ethan gave her a small smirk. “If you’re gonna lie t’me, make it convincing, Foster.”

For once, Emma seemed to have gone quiet. 

She was still looking at Lex, still hovering a few feet above the floor, but she looked less irritated about his existence than she normally seemed to. 

Fucking score. 

Raising his eyebrows, Ethan folded his wings neatly against his back and rapped his claws against the wall. “So, you gonna tell me why—”

“It’s none of your business,” Lex cut him off, and with that, she dipped around Emma and made her way to the kitchen— Ethan following close on her tail, though he only stopped for a second when Paul poked his head through the wall.

“Is everything—” The ghost started, though he stopped himself mid-sentence when he met Ethan’s eyes. “—oh. You’re awake.”

“Sure am,” he agreed, stepping around Paul— not before shooting him a toothy grin over his shoulder. 

Paul flinched in response. 

_ Should’ve just stayed on your side of the wall, buddy. _

Flicking his wings, Ethan dragged his claw lightly across the wall. “So, what’re you—”

Lex slammed the lid of the jar to the countertop. “Does it matter?” She snapped, “you’re not coming.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You’re leaving me with Hannah?”

Lex stiffened. 

He smirked. 

Behind him, Paul gave a small cough. “We’ll be here to watch them both,” he piped up, though he did draw back a little when Ethan turned to shoot him a cold look. 

“Right, yeah, and what’re you gonna do if I decide the little snot gets on my nerves?” 

“I—”

“You’ll what?” Ethan asked, unable to keep his voice from turning sharp, “haunt me? Yeah fuckin’ right.” Although Paul was holding his ground, it didn’t look like he’d be able to for that much longer. 

His jaw twitched. “We’re not going to let you hurt her.” 

Ethan laughed. “How? You two can’t even  _ touch _ anything.” As if for emphasis, he whapped his tail against the top of the table with a crack.

Beside him, Lex flinched. Turning his attention to here where she stood, Ethan watched as she finished up her shitty breakfast sandwich—  _ seriously _ , who the hell  _ only _ used peanut butter— and slung her backpack over her shoulders. “Yeah,” she huffed out, jabbing an accusing finger his way, “and  _ you _ can’t fucking touch her.” 

“As far as you know,” he agreed, raising a hand to inspect his claws. He could feel her eyes on him— as far as he knew, her glare was melting through the side of his head— but he paid it no attention. “An’ if she were to have some sorta… accident on my watch, that’d be a damn shame, wouldn’t it?” 

Her eyes met his. “Are you threatening me?”

He shrugged. “Is it working?” 

From her lack of response save for looking away he was going to go with  _ yes _ . It made sense. He’d never had any siblings— the closest he’d had was  _ Oliver _ , and the two of them had never gotten along anyway, considering the fact that he was a massive fucking dweeb— so the fact that Hannah was such good leverage wasn’t exactly one he understood. 

Not that it really mattered. 

If it worked, it worked— who gave a shit  _ why? _

A smirk settled on his lips— just enough to show off his fangs— as Lex took a step toward the door. “So, what’s goin’ on? Am I on babysitting, or am I with you— not that there’s much of a diff—”

“You know, I’m starting to figure out  _ why _ someone decided to fucking muder you.” 

His hackles rose. 

His smirk twitched into more of a snarl. 

“Right,” he agreed, his tone clipped. Short. Bordering on a growl that it took all of his effort to bite back. “But that  _ still _ doesn’t answer my question, so…” Trailing off, he raised a hand and scratched behind one of his horns. 

Lex watched him like a hawk. Her shoulders were stiff, and from the way her gaze shot from him to the front door, to the door to Hannah’s room, it was pretty damn obvious she was weighing her options pretty damn heavily. Her fingers twisted in one of her hoodie strings. 

His tail curled lightly around one of the table legs. 

After what felt like a small eternity, she finally spoke up. 

It only took three words to make Ethan’s smile turn to something genuine. 

“Fine. Come on.” 

The fact that it didn’t sound like she wanted to be saying them was just a bonus in his books. 


	12. no destiny or fate (just a terrifying wait)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just wanted to say here that I've changed a few of the tags (namely added some) and wanted to be sure that you're all aware of the new warnings. I'll put them chapter by chapter as we go in the notes, so if any of them bother you but you still want to follow along, please PM me so I can shoot you a summary of the chapter!

“Why do I have a feeling that that isn’t gonna go well?”

The door had closed behind Lex and Ethan with a soft click less than ten seconds ago, and even though Paul knew— he  _ knew  _ that he wasn’t allowed to hurt her, he found his hands raising to fiddle with his tie even after he heard them both stomp down the front step— Lex stepping heavily, Ethan practically gliding down after her. From their footsteps alone, it was pretty obvious that they were hurrying.

Well.

That  _ Lex _ was hurrying. 

It wasn’t like he could properly see Ethan through the dirty window, but from the twin shadows that passed out front, it was easy enough to tell that he was using his longer stride to his advantage. 

Paul was never one to judge people based on appearances. Sure, there were people he’d rather not interact with— like the disheveled homeless guy that would come up and ask him for change every now and again, or the girl with the Greenpeace apron that would badger him out on the street— but there was something about Ethan that made his stomach twist in a way he couldn’t quite explain. 

Maybe it was the smirk, or the way he held himself that set Paul on edge. Maybe it was the way he seemed to act like he owned every room he stepped into— Emma had been hostile with him right away, and as much as Paul had wanted to chide her for being so harsh with someone who was clearly just a teenager, had he more courage… he probably would’ve acted the same way. 

...it might’ve had something to do with his horns. 

Or his tail.

Both were pretty good reasons to be uneasy, alongside the fact that he was  _ literally _ a demon. 

Paul’s grip on his tie tightened. His fingers twitched lightly in place, thumb grazing over the back of the fabric in a repeated motion as he tried to find his words. When he spoke up, his voice was soft. 

“I know he can’t hurt her, but I just feel… I dunno…” Trailing off, for a moment, he went quiet in an attempt to find a word for the way his stomach had tied itself into several tight knots and his breath felt short before settling.

“Uneasy?” he tried, looking to Emma for approval. 

She gave a small nod in response, hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Automatically, he moved to twine their fingers. 

The knots felt a little looser once he did. 

“That’s fair,” she agreed. “I can’t say I like it either, but he’s away from Hannah. And  _ us _ — that’s a plus, huh?” 

He managed a smile in return. “I guess so. You don’t think he’ll give Lex any trouble?”

Emma shook her head. “I think he’ll  _ try _ .” When she drifted closer, her other hand came to rest over his fingers where they were tangled in the end of his tie. “I don’t think she’ll let him. Kid’s seen a couple of horror movies—”

“Those are inaccurate,” Paul interrupted without thinking.

Emma snorted. “ _ That’s _ what you’re gonna comment on?”

“They are!” 

He’d gone through the scant list of horror films he’d seen about a billion times since waking up one day after he’d died, and from what he’d gathered, all of them were completely wrong. 

Dropping his tie, he met Emma’s challenging gaze without an ounce of hesitation— though he made an effort to keep his voice lower than it had been. 

_ Hannah deserves to sleep. _

The mere  _ thought _ of the child made him glance toward their bedroom door— still tightly closed against everything that had happened in the past half hour where Lex had left it. 

“Ghosts aren’t as powerful as they are in movies,” he started, matter-of-factly, “we knock things over—”

“ _ You _ blow up lights,” Emma interjected.

“ _ Sometimes _ — not on purpose. Emma, we’re basically cats.”

Emma’s brows drew together. Her mouth twitched slightly as she set her lips in a straight line, cocking her head to the left. “ _ Cats?” _ She echoed. “I don’t think cats can go through walls, Paul.”

His fidgeting stopped. Dropping his tie entirely, Paul turned to face her completely, her hand sliding off his shoulder with the motion. “You don’t know that,” he huffed, at which Emma raised her eyebrows. 

“Have you ever  _ owned  _ a cat?

His words stalled. Partially because he was trying to think of a good way to inform her that  _ no _ , he’d never owned a cat, but mostly because of the way Emma’s hair had slid out from under her hat. 

It had been brushed out the day it had happened, and from the look of it, it was stuck that way— the brown strands falling just so over her faux-annoyed expression in a way that made Paul’s unbeating heart feel warm. 

The feeling only grew when she shot him a triumphant grin. “What? Invisible cat got your tongue?”

A sigh pulled from his throat— something over dramatic and just barely hiding a laugh— not that he was doing a great job at hiding it, what, with the way his voice wobbled. “ _ No _ , Emma,” he corrected, “and you don’t know if I owned a cat?”

“Uh,  _ yeah _ .” Folding her arms and jutting her chin up at him in an attempt to make herself look taller, not that it did much, she squared her shoulder and lifted herself up from the floor to a point where their eyes were level. “That’s why I  _ asked _ , genius— though I’m thinking you didn’t if you think they can go through walls.” 

He managed to match her steely gaze for about three seconds before breaking into a smile. “You’ve got me there,” he admitted, “though it’s because I’m allergic. My aunt used to have one, and every time I ended up at her place, I was a wreck. She thought I was dying.” Unable to keep his hands at his sides, Paul brought them up in front of him as he continued, waving them absently along with his words. “It took us  _ years _ to figure out what the problem was— after she’d figured out I  _ wasn’t _ dying, she thought I’d been crying because I hated her or something?” Shrugging, he gave a crooked smile and tucked his hands into his pockets. 

Emma snorted. “Did you?”

“That’s besides the point.”

It was nice to hear her laugh. 

Even though it wasn’t a laugh that lasted all that long, it made Paul’s expression break into a crooked grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

She had a nice laugh, as far as he was concerned. Not a musical one— one that seemed  _ genuine _ . He couldn’t explain it. It sounded like  _ her _ . Familiar, warm, all those things he’d always loved—

“God, it’s weird to be laughing after all this.” Her voice interrupted his thoughts, and like that, she was pulling away, hands coming up to push her hair back under her beanie. “Isn’t that a little… I dunno, fucked?” 

Paul blinked. “I… a little?” He tried, watching as she drifted backward toward the kitchen, passing through the counter on her way. 

Her hands stayed on her head, fingers dipping just under the sides of her beanie. “I mean, we just sent a  _ demon _ to work with a teenager.”

“She let him go with her.” Floating after her, he rolled his shoulders lightly, one hand falling automatically down to his pocket. 

The box was still there.

Just as solid as it had ever been. 

“It…  _ should _ be fine,” he finished, “and she can command him to stop, right?” 

Emma shrugged in response. “Fuckin’ hope so, for her sake. She left the paper here. Knowing him—”

“You  _ just _ met him.”

Lowering her hands, Emma raised her eyebrows. “Are you really going to try telling me he  _ isn’t _ going to get all technical about it?” She questioned, crossing her arms. The fabric of her sweater bunched lightly around her elbows. 

Paul stuck his hands in his pockets, though even after he did, he could still feel them starting to twitch and shift along the stitching there. “...you really don’t like him,” he observed, Emma giving a sharp scoff in response. 

“And you  _ do? _ I know he’s just a kid or whatever— or  _ was _ , anyway, before he…” 

When she trailed off, one of her hands returned to push her bangs under the front of her beanie, though it wasn’t like she had to finish her sentence. 

Paul knew where it had been headed. 

Before he  _ died _ .

It was still hard to think about the fact that that was what had happened to the two of them, though there were always those small reminders. His heart didn’t beat. He didn’t breathe as often as he would normally— just when he needed to speak— and that went without mentioning two of the bigger reminders, those being the fact that neither of them could touch anything, and that both of their clothes were stained with Emma’s blood.

Pulling his thoughts away from that, he met Emma’s eyes once more as she turned in a sharp circle in the small kitchen, hip brushing through the top of the table. 

“I  _ knew _ that name was familiar,” she continued, “he died about a year ago and it was front page news around here for like a month— I think he got stabbed or some shit like that.” 

Paul found himself nodding. “That sounds about right,” he agreed. “It’s… honestly, it’s sad. He doesn’t look all that old.”

“He wasn’t, I don’t think.” 

Silence fell between them. 

Not an uncomfortable one. 

Paul’s fingers continued to trace the stitching along the inside of his jacket pockets where he stood, and as he watched, Emma continued to drift in a way that almost matched the way she’d pace in tight circles when she was alive, groggily complaining that the kitchen was too small for her to pace properly despite the fact that her legs were almost a foot shorter than his. 

Those had always been good mornings. 

Almost automatically, he turned to the still pulled-out chair from the night prior and attempted to sit down, propping one elbow up as well as he could on the table despite the fact that it dipped into the wood a good inch. 

_ All I need is a cup of coffee and we’ve got a normal morning.  _

That, and the removal of a couple of burnt-out candles and the ouija board. 

Sighing softly, he let his fingers twitch where they sat on the table. “So…” he started, clearing his throat, “it’s… just us and Hannah today.”

Turning back to him, Emma offered a smile. “How much do you wanna bet she sends him back here?”

Paul rapped his knuckles on the top of the table in a short series of knocks, not that he felt it. 

Emma’s pacing—  _ is it pacing? _ — stopped short at the sound. “What the fuck was that for? Are you  _ seriously _ superstitious?”

“I don’t want you to jinx us— don’t  _ laugh!”  _ Sitting up a little straighter, he grabbed the end of his tie. “If  _ ghosts  _ are a thing, and demons, maybe that has something to it, too,” he reasoned as Emma drifted closer toward him. 

“You think so?”

“Are you willing to chance it?”

Again, there was silence. 

Silence, that is, until Emma shook her head and rapped her knuckles on the table. 

Paul laughed. 

He couldn’t help it. 

One of his hands moved to cover his mouth in a poor attempt to muffle the sound, though when Emma narrowed his eyes, he only snickered  _ louder _ . 

A huff pulled from her. “Fine, fine. Fuck it, I’m not chancing it, you’re right,” she grumbled, though before she turned her head away from him, Paul saw the corners of her lips tugging upward in a crooked smile. “ _ Just _ because I don’t want to get thrown against another wall, not because I believe in your hokey bullshit.” 

“Hey, I didn’t believe in it until after the meteor hit,” he defended.

It was true. 

He’d been rethinking a  _ lot _ of superstitions ever since he’d pretty much  _ become  _ one. It couldn’t hurt to be too careful. 

Across from him, Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s… not the dumbest thing ever, I guess.” Sighing softly, she glanced down to the board on the table between them. “I mean, I used to think  _ these _ were hokey bullshit, too, and here we fuckin’ are. Can’t believe Lex summoned a  _ demon _ in our kitchen.” 

“ _ Technically _ it’s not our kitchen,” he piped up, rapping his knuckles against the wood again. It was  _ weird _ to do that. There was still a soft sound that rose up from the action, but the  _ feeling _ was gone— no impact on his knuckles. “It’s theirs, now.”

“Eh…” Trailing off, Emma managed a soft smile. “I guess so. Though we  _ do _ still live here.”

“We’re not  _ paying  _ for it, though.” 

“Can’t say I miss that.” With a quiet laugh, Emma slunk into the chair across from him. Her hands phased completely through the surface of the table that he was barely managing to rest his hands on. “A  _ lot _ happened last night,” she finally mumbled after a moment of silence.

Paul nodded in response. 

He didn’t bother giving an example.

They were all playing out behind his eyes, and from the faraway look on Emma’s face, the same set of images were flashing through her head as well. The board. The blood. The candles. The way Ethan had looked when he’d just shown up on the table, grinning from ear to ear with those jagged fangs and eyes that glowed in the dark like those of a cat. 

Again, he rapped his fingers against the table.

Again, Emma began to fiddle with the loose strands of hair sticking past her beanie. “I gotta say, that sorta backfired.”

Paul hummed in agreement, picking at one of the buttons on his shirtsleeve. 

“I mean, I  _ felt _ it— didn’t you feel something? Before he actually showed up, when he was—” bringing her hands down in front of her in a sharp motion, she grabbed at the air as though she was trying to snatch her words out of thin air “—the board— when he was fucking with the board, it was like I  _ knew _ —“

“That he was there?” Paul supplied, at which Emma snapped her fingers. 

“ _ Yeah _ — like an energy almost? Fuck, it was  _ weird _ .” 

From where he sat, he could see her shudder minutely in place. Her hands shifted to rub at her forearms. “And why’s he a demon, anyway? I mean, he  _ was _ a human before, so what’s with that? I mean,  _ we  _ didn’t get horns and wings and weird… freaky powers— the worst you’ve done is knock over a lamp and blow up a lightbulb, and I haven’t managed to do shit.”

“You singlehandedly destroyed Lex’s entire sleep schedule,” Paul pointed out, though Emma waved him off. 

“Oh,  _ please _ , she’s a  _ teenager _ — her sleep schedule was long gone before the two of us showed up in her life, especially with everything being the way it is for her…” 

A wince pulled across Paul’s face, and when Emma put her hands back on her hat, loosely fidgeting with her hair, her eyes flickered with sympathy.

Neither one of them spoke for a moment, though Paul could practically hear her thoughts. As far as he knew, they were both thinking of the same thing— a dark red welt on the face of the younger Foster girl.

In the hallway, the light flickered weakly. 

Emma chuckled lightly. “Hey, stop thinking so hard. Lex didn’t seem too happy about  _ one  _ bulb, don’t really need to stress her out any extra.” 

Paul’s hand tapped the table again, fingers slipping down past the surface of the wood.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Her fingers brushed against his own. “Don’t be,” she prompted when he looked up, “just…  _ fuck _ , is it bad to be jealous of a demon?”

“You’re jealous of him?”

Emma pulled her hand away from his to gesture up by the side of her head. “Uh,  _ yeah—  _ he gets cool powers! Can you blame me?”

Paul couldn’t stop himself from glancing down to where her legs would’ve been close to touching his own had they been tucked under the table rather than floating behind her.

When his eyes flicked back up to her, she was flipping him off, though her lips were twitching in a poorly disguised smile. 

He knew his were doing the same. “You’re floating right now.”

“And? He has wings— they looked big enough to  _ actually  _ lift him off the ground, and that’s beside the point, where’s  _ my  _ telekinesis, huh?”

“Bound,” a small voice interrupted.

Paul’s response died on his tongue. 

_ She’s awake. _

Turning where he sat, he couldn’t help a small smile upon seeing Hannah with her bed-tousled hair down, one strap on her overalls hanging loosely at her side, her stuffed spider faithfully tucked in her kangaroo pocket.

Lex had definitely picked a good toy for her sister, that was certain.

His soft expression turned a little strained when he caught sight of the print on her face.

_ Oh… _

It looked almost worse in the morning light, contrasting her soft, still-tired stature in a way that made his stomach twist. 

“Morning, Hannah,” Emma greeted before he could even attempt to think of what to say, “sleep alright?”

Hannah shrugged in response. Moving almost on autopilot, she stepped into the small kitchen and snagged a box of cereal off one of the topmost shelves— standing on her toes to reach, though not before she met Emma’s eyes and repeated herself.

“Bound,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “All of you, but you’re… different. Not the same. Bound… better.” 

Emma blinked.

The knot in Paul’s chest that always seemed to be there cinched up considerably tighter than it had been before. She’d only been awake for a few minutes as far as he knew— just enough to undo what was left of her pigtails and throw on her clothes for the day— but  _ already _ , she was speaking cryptically.

That wasn’t usually a good thing.

“...right,” Emma returned— not that the child seemed to be listening. 

Hannah was in her own little world as she carefully pulled down a bowl for herself, movement only stopping to make sure that the spider tucked in her pocket wasn’t going to fall. The bead eyes of the plushie clicked and clacked against each other with her movements, and as Paul stood up, she didn’t even acknowledge him. 

“What kind of a day is it?” Paul asked— a habit he’d fallen into after overhearing Lex ask the same question almost every morning. 

Hannah paused. 

One of her hands moved to touch her head, fingers threading through her hair. Her brows drew together. “...a day,” she finally murmured, blinking up at him. 

He managed a smile. “Just a day?” He echoed, at which she nodded softly. 

“Just a day. Not good. Not bad. Just… today.” The clarification was spoken with a bit of hesitance. Her expression was still a little bit conflicted— her lower lip nervously clamped between her teeth— but when she met his eyes, she gave a soft smile.

It made Paul’s still heart clench slightly. 

The soft expression was one full of hope from what he could see, a gentle thing that shone in her tired eyes— though his attention fell to the bruise on her cheek before he could help it. 

It was almost like she could sense it. 

With a last look that was almost close to reassurance, she turned her attention back to her bowl and poured herself a helping of cheerios, the sharp sound masking the humming starting to pull from her. One of her hands lightly flapped at her side. 

“Gone,” she informed them both when she turned, giving a crooked smile. 

* * *

It had been fairly obvious that the demon wasn’t present from when she’d woken up. 

For one, there hadn’t been that energy in the air. There was something that seemed to hang over him that just felt  _ wrong _ . Something dark and heavy, along with warm— completely different than the light cold that Paul and Emma seemed to emanate wherever they went, and as much as she wanted to brush it off and pretend it was a dream… 

She couldn’t have made up that grin. 

The one with too many teeth and the gleaming eyes— it was one she’d seen before. Just his face. 

Shaking her head, Hannah pushed the image away. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t there to bug her. It was just Paul and Emma— and they were good. Webby had told her that, too, and from what Hannah had managed to pick up herself, the pair of them were more than kind, even if Emma _ did  _ shout at Ethan the night before. 

She couldn’t say she minded. 

Hand still flicking back and forth at her side, Hannah carefully set down the cereal box and picked up the bowl, balancing it in one hand in an almost practiced fashion as she turned. She didn’t bother getting milk. It made it too soggy, anyway, and she’d have to stop flapping her hand, which sounded awful. 

That, and they were almost out. 

With a small hum, she sat down in the chair Paul had been using a few moments ago, putting down the bowl with a soft clink. 

The routine was a fairly simple one. Taking a spoonful of cereal in her mouth, Hannah absently fiddled with her hair in the silence of her room. Beneath the table, her leg jittered. 

It was a normal sort of scene, at least, it was for her. She’d wake up alone, brush her teeth, pull on some clothes, chat with Webby, and then spend most of her day at the kitchen table by the window with Paul and Emma, and sometimes Webby, when she’d talk to her. 

_ Are you there? _

She asked, eyes flicking closed momentarily. 

There wasn’t an answer. 

She wasn’t surprised. After all, Webby had been there right when she’d woken up in her head with enough power in her voice to make her skull throb despite the fact that the words she’d spoken had been gentle reassurances. 

Gaze flicking up to Paul, she offered him a gentle smile. “Okay?” She asked him with a tilt of her head. 

His hand was on his tie, his thumb dragging along the stitching on the back of the fabric in time with Hannah’s fingers fiddling with her hair, though it stopped when she asked her question. “Yeah,” he responded, “I’m okay.”

“Good.” 

Something prodded at the back of her mind. 

Her hand shifted to her forehead, fingers lightly pushing aside her bangs before she spoke up again. “Lex, too,” she added, softly. “We’re all okay.” 

“Does Webby say that?” Paul asked, earning himself a small nod from her. 

“Mhm.” Taking another bite of dry cereal, she shifted in her seat, more than a little aware of the fact that Paul was still looking at her with his brows drawn together and his hand fidgeting with his tie. 

“...does Webby tell you things like that a lot?” 

Beside him, Emma frowned. 

Hannah couldn’t help mirroring it. 

There was something different in his question— his voice sounding a little more thin that it did when he normally talked. His eyes weren’t on her own, either, fixed on her spoon as she slid it back into the bowl and cocked her head, watching him closely. 

_...he looks tense.  _

She couldn’t meet his eye, either. 

“...sometimes,” she admitted, softly. “Not all the time. Usually just pictures. I draw them in my book.” 

She pretended not to notice the fact that Emma and Paul exchanged a glance, instead, pulling the elastic bands out of her hair that barely seemed to be doing anything other than causing knots. 

Again, the headache came. 

Again, she drew a hand up to her head, brows drawing together. 

“She says Lex is… worried,” she informed them, “but safe. Not hurt. Can’t… can’t hurt her.” 

Finishing in a soft hum, Hannah turned her attention back to her breakfast, trying to ignore the feeling of Emma’s eyes on her. Her gaze felt different than Paul’s. Sharper in a way. Looking up, she made eye-contact momentarily before quickly looking away again, leg jittering away. The table wobbled slightly. 

“...she tells me things,” she found herself saying, forcing herself to meet Emma’s eye. The look of concern on her face was almost painfully obvious, and even as Hannah raised her hands to tug loosely on the ends of her hair. Her fingers caught on the knots left from what had once been her braids. “She’s always right. Showed Paul some, last night.” 

Like that, the attention wasn’t on her anymore. 

Good. 

Paul and Emma  _ were _ good, as far as she knew, but having two sets of eyes on hers, especially when they met her own, it was… a lot to deal with at times. Fingers still hooked through the knots in her hair, Hannah continued to jerk her knee up and down under the table. 

Webby had told her to trust them. 

She  _ did _ trust them— she trusted Webby— but as she twisted her fingers in her braids, she couldn’t help but think of another person Webby had told her she could trust, if he even  _ was _ a person anymore. From what she’d heard from Webby, it was complicated at best, and at worse… 

Again, something stirred in the back of her mind.

Her hand slipped up onto her forehead, pushing her bangs out of the way as her brows pinched together. 

**_Not yet,_ ** came Webby’s voice, the strain it put on her head enough to make her wince. 

_ What? _

**_Don’t trust him yet, Hannah._ **

The words buzzed through her skull. The hand still tangled in her hair stayed where it was, though her grip did tighten on the strands minutely, tugging a little harder.

“Did she tell you about Ethan?” Paul interrupted her thoughts. 

The presence in her head faded the second he spoke up with a suddenness that made her breath hitch in her throat, her eyes flicking up to Paul’s face.

It took her a moment to process what he’d said, and even when she  _ did _ manage to process it, she spent another minute trying to form her words properly in her head. “Yes,” she confirmed, “told me before. Said not to trust him.” The last sentence was tacked awkwardly on after the others, though Emma shot her a nod after she spoke. 

“Good,” she agreed, her tone a little shaky, “Webby’s a smart spider. You shouldn’t be trusting him, especially after what he pulled yesterday.” A dark expression flickered across her face. Her arms crossed against her chest. “I don’t know why Lex even bothered keeping him around— like yeah, he  _ said _ she couldn’t get rid of him, but that sounds like bullshit on his part. She probably can.” 

Hannah’s head buzzed. 

An image flashed through her mind—  _ candles, the kitchen, an upturned table _ — gone almost as soon as it came to her. 

_ What was that? _

Webby didn’t respond. 

Moving almost on autopilot, she reached for one of the papers on the countertop, placing one down on top of the board and reaching for the discarded pencil sitting beside it. “Not  _ yet _ ,” she murmured, albeit, confusedly. 

The pencil lightly pressed to the page, filling in a few abstract shapes she’d managed to pick up 

Frowning slightly, she pressed her hand back to her forehead despite Webby’s absence in an attempt to remember what she’d been told. “It’s… complicated,” she settled with, uncertainly, glancing at Paul for reassurance. 

He didn’t give it. 

His eyes were trained on Emma, and from the way he was fidgeting with his tie, it was clear to Hannah that he was thinking hard. The lights down the hall buzzed with a soft, tinny sound. 

Emma cuffed Paul on the shoulder— the action playful in nature. “Hey, no more casualties,” she scolded, “we’ve been over this.”

Paul gave a soft smile in response. “Trying,” he returned. As Hannah watched, his hand slid down to Emma’s. Their fingers locked for a moment, before Emma gave his hand a light squeeze. 

“I know. Stop thinking so much. Webby’s giving you good advice.” 

When Emma looked to her, this time, Hannah didn’t look away, instead holding the ghost’s gaze as she pointed at her, smiling, albeit, stiffly. 

“I’d just keep listening to her, and if she tells you to keep away from him—”

“Not  _ away _ ,” Hannah corrected, “just be  _ careful _ .”

Emma nodded. “...keep away from him, too,” she instructed as Hannah turned her gaze back to the drawing. “That’s like,  _ extra _ careful— like Webby said, yeah?” 

“Mhm.” 

She probably would’ve kept away from him even if Webby had told her he was safe to be around. Even when he’d first showed up in her mind— just a flash of that cheshire-cat smile— she’d felt unsafe, and that feeling had only worsened when he’d showed up and growled at Lex. 

Something cold spread across her shoulders. 

Her body tensed. 

She pressed a little harder on the paper with her pencil. Not hard enough to break the lead, but enough to make the lines turn dark as she sketched out the familiar shape of the kitchen she sat in. She’d drawn it enough times, now, that it was easy to get the cupboards just right, though she had to erase the single lightbulb that had once hung above her head. 

_ Paul broke it.  _

It was an accident. Webby had told her— though she wouldn’t have cared if it had been on purpose. It was just a lightbulb, and when her mother had left the room, it was like she’d been able to breathe properly again.

One of her hands shifted to prop her head up, elbow bracing on the table, though she winced upon brushing it up against her bruise.

_ Ow. _

She hadn’t looked at it too closely in the mirror that morning, but from what she could feel alone… it was quite the mark. It throbbed under her touch almost angrily, hot under her fingers in a way that made her bite her lip. Her pencil lines were turning harsher. Darker. Heavier. Rough, deep strokes marred the paper, and although the pencil didn’t pierce through it, Hannah couldn’t help but wonder if it would. 

“...not yet,” she reiterated as more and more of what she’d seen faded across the paper in a mess of hashmarks. “One day.” 

From the small pressure that built in her head, she knew she was right. 

Not today, and not tomorrow… and although Hannah  _ did _ trust Webby…

Just thinking of the way Ethan had smiled at her was enough to make her think that “one day” might be a lot farther away than Webby had made it sound, and in all honesty, that was fine by her. So long as Ethan didn’t hurt anybody… she had Paul, she had Emma (even if Emma  _ did  _ frighten her a little), she had Webby— and that without mentioning the person she’d had right from the beginning. 

_ I have Lex.  _

Her grip on the pencil loosened just a smidge. Not enough for either of the ghosts to really notice, but enough to make her fingers return to a normal color. 

She had Lex.

She’d  _ always  _ had Lex.

One stupid demon wasn’t going to change that. Not if she had any say. 


	13. we could just walk (but we've done that before)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings for: Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, Intrusive thoughts and mild gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're back with my favourite idiot teens! Happy spooky season, y'all!

Usually, walking to work was a good way to blow off steam. 

It was the time of day that she’d lower her head, pop in her earbuds, and block out everyone and everything on the streets of Hatchetfield in the morning. The breeze would be just right, usually a little too cold for her liking— though that was nothing her hoodie couldn’t fix— and her stiff joints would relax into the feeling of putting one foot in front of the other. She wouldn’t always feel _good_ . Good mornings were fake as all hell, anyway, but she’d usually feel at least a little _better_. 

Today wasn’t one of those days. 

The weather was fine. Her earbuds were stuck in her ears, blaring a song she liked but couldn’t remember the name of— one of those impulse downloads from a two am study session. The air was cold, but not overbearingly so, and the faint glow of sunrise was almost pretty to look at as it crept along the cracks in the concrete beneath her sneakers. 

If good mornings _were_ real, she might’ve been able to call this one of them. 

But good mornings were fucking fake. 

Because the phrase “good morning” was an oxymoron. This one especially, thanks to one thing. 

One _person_ , if that’s even what he was anymore— she honestly wasn’t sure. 

One Ethan Green, by name, who was squinting at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Are you trying to go deaf or what?” He asked with a halfway jab of his claws toward the cord trailing down to her pocket. 

Her fingers twitched in her hoodie pocket. 

Fuck, of all the days for her earbuds to crap out on her, why did it have to be today? They’d been working fine the day before, but as she turned up the volume on her playlist and quickened her step, she was made painfully aware of the fact that the right earpiece had gone dead when Ethan changed his pace to match her own— the noise of him walking just a little too audible for her liking. 

Even the way he _walked_ was enough to make her feel as though she had to draw her shoulders up to her ears and ball her hands into fists. 

“What’s it to you if I am?” 

She knew she’d made a mistake the second the words left her mouth from the way his lips curled up at the corners. 

“So you _can_ hear me!” He crowed, the noise of his wings rustling and the feeling of a faint breeze on her back enough to make her walk a little faster— borderline jogging. “Damn, does that mean you’ve been ignoring me this whole time? ‘Casue if that’s so, you’re doing a crapass job at it.” 

Not giving him the dignity of a response, Lex chose instead to yank on one of the straps of her backpack, causing the pins decorating it to jingle against each other loudly, which she shouldn’t have been able to hear if her _fucking headphones_ were cooperating, and her ears weren’t exactly helping, either, being tuned the fuck in on anything _but_ her music to a point where she heard Ethan inhale right before he spoke. 

“Wow, and we’re back to pretending I don’t exist, huh?” He asked. 

_You’re doing a shit job at pretending you don’t exist if you’re including yourself in that we._

Without so much as a glance in his direction, she bit down on the inside of her cheek and forced herself to walk faster. Fuck’s sake— she always hated those uptight pricks who had time to jog in the morning, but here she was— sharing one shadow between the two of them. Her breath was fogging up the air with every exhale, and as much as she hated to look at him…

When she shot him a sideways glare, she was quick to notice that his _wasn’t._

His shoulders still rose and fell, though when he flashed her a stupid smile comprised of wickedly sharp teeth and false cheer, not so much as a cloud formed in front of him. “So, are you gonna tell me _why_ , exactly, we’re goin’ out so early?” He piped once their eyes met, tail dragging along behind him with a dull scratching that _really_ made her wish the sound was blocked out properly. 

Her left earbud was doing all it could. It would’ve worked better if he hadn’t been walking on the right side of her. 

Which he wasn’t. 

As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t help but think he was doing it on purpose. “I don’t need to tell you anything,” she growled, at which he gave a small shrug, wings flapping lightly. 

“No,” he agreed, “but if you ain’t gonna tell me, I’m gonna start guessing.”

For Lex, a question answered with silence usually didn’t mean a green light. That _usually_ got whoever the fuck it was who was talking to her to give up, or stopped her mid-sentence if she was trying to get her mother to acknowledge her presence in a way that _wasn’t_ violent. 

It was pretty much unspoken— _literally_ — among most people. 

Ethan Green wasn’t most people.

 _Ethan_ was a selfish _prick_. 

“...guessing it is, then.”

Whoever said bullies left kids who were quiet alone was clearly trying to keep people from getting their noses broken. In her pocket, Lex felt her hands curling into tight fists. Punching a demon didn’t sound like the _smartest_ thing to do, but… she could _probably_ take him if push came to shove. Sure, he was taller, bulkier, _and_ had wings and a tail along with claws and fangs, but she had… 

Fuck, what?

Unadulterated rage? Cynicism? 

Her brows drew together. 

Again, she glanced at him. 

_I have a contract._

That was good enough, right? That’d keep him from attacking her if he even wanted to, not that it really looked like he wanted to. 

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that daylight was starting to sweep over the sidewalk in hazily glowing sheets, but as Lex gave him a once-over through her hair, she couldn’t help but think that he genuinely looked _almost_ normal. He looked more alive than Paul and Emma had, at least. 

_Of the three dead people I know, he’s like… the least dead looking._

The wings, tail, and twin red horns that curved up from his skull sure as shit made him stand out, but every other aspect of him just looked… the way he had before. Beaten jacket, ratty shirt, piercing eyes— save for the slit pupils— he just looked like a _slightly_ more feral Ethan Green. 

Not that he’d ever been fucking approachable. 

With pretty much permanently bruised knuckles from what little Lex had seen of him _before_ he’d gone and gotten himself killed in the same building she worked at and a heavy leather jacket-- along with an all-around awful personality, he was someone everyone at Hatchetfield High knew of. And stayed the _fuck_ away from if they knew what was good for them. Deb had apparently smoked with him a few times, Alice didn’t like him, Danny had always thought the guy was just _weird_ , and Lex… 

Glancing over at him, inwardly thanking whatever god there was that he wasn’t looking back at her, Lex could easily call her opinion to mind. 

Setting all the demonic shit aside, Ethan Green was one thing above all else. 

A fucking douchebag. 

Inhaling slowly, he tilted his head. “...boyfriend?” He tried, an odd lilt in his voice— though it may have just been from slurring around his fangs. 

_Why doesn’t this thing play any louder?_

In an attempt to muffle his voice, Lex huffed and drew her hood up over her head, though it only seemed to egg him on. 

His voice was somewhat teasing, but not in a light way. “I mean,” he started, waving a hand in front of him, “the odds of _you_ getting a boyfriend are low— or girlfriend I guess, though…” He paused momentarily. 

Even though her hood was drawn up, she could practically feel his eyes on her and suppressed the urge to shoot him a glare. The walk wasn’t a long one. She could tune him out until she got there, and then… 

_...nobody else better be able to see him._

_Fuck._

_That_ wasn’t something she wanted to have to explain to Frank, or anyone for that matter— _fuck_ , Deb would for _sure_ recognize him—

“Well, ya never know,” he finished, snapping her into the present, “though since you ain’t exactly _denying_ anything—”

“I’m not agreeing,” she interrupted. “And it’s none of your business what I’m getting up early for, okay? You have to listen to me, don’t you?” Unable to keep an exasperated tone from twisting through her words, Lex stopped dead in her tracks and whirled on him. For a girl who barely scraped the upper end of being five foot five, she could be intimidating when she wanted to. 

That much was easy enough to see in the way Ethan’s pupils dilated on her own when she met his eyes.

When he inhaled, she didn’t give him a chance to speak. 

“It’s none of your fucking business,” she repeated, spitting the words at him, “so quit asking. I don’t know why you feel like you need to know about me, because you fucking _don’t_. Thanks for asking, but fuck off, got it?” 

It wasn’t like he needed to know anything. 

His whole fucking job— _god, I can’t believe he has a job_ — was to keep her and Hannah from getting fucking obliterated before they could run away, not to pry in her personal life. He was _probably_ just doing it to further solidify his douchebag status. 

After all, it wasn’t like he _actually_ fucking cared. 

That was obvious in the way his tail flicked doggedly at his side. For a demon, it was almost comical that his tail was such a clear indicator of emotion. 

“...got it,” he finally let out in a soft hiss through his teeth— fangs arranged in a neat, almost threatening smile. “I mean, it doesn’t _really_ matter. I’m gonna figure out what the fuck you’re doin’ in about three minutes.”

Turning away from him, Lex continued on her walk. “Then wait,” she snapped out. The one earphone she’d managed to get working slipped out of place at the motion, though she couldn’t give less of a shit. All it was really doing was giving her hearing loss anyway. Even with it hanging loosely by her neck, she could still hear it attempting to play some song, though she didn’t pay it any attention, instead, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the sidewalk ahead of her. 

She could already see the dark shape of the mall looming ahead as more and more of the morning fog lifted. It had never been the _best_ looking building. The weird grayish colour that was closer to a muddy brown they’d painted the outside with wasn’t the epitome of welcoming or anything like that, and although the sign was _supposedly_ on, from the letters Lex could make out, the bulbs that were supposed to fizzle behind the lettering had already started to burn out. 

A smirk settled on her face. 

The sign, proudly displaying **sid all** flickered softly as though responding. 

Beside her, Ethan gave a small huff. “Damn,” he remarked, “looks different than I remember. Used to say fuckin’ _akesid all_ back when I was—”

“Your memory’s shit,” she cut him off without missing a beat. “Because _I_ remember telling _you_ to shut—”

“Holy shit, is that fucking _Deb?”_

Lex’s head snapped up so fast she swore she heard something in her spine pop. “Ethan, _wait—_ ” she started, though the demon was already bounding ahead of her. The wings on his back flared open with a gust of wind that buffeted her loose-fitting sweater, pumping downward, the noise sounding like a paperback book being dropped on concrete. 

And then he flew. 

Kinda, anyway. 

His shoes still impacted the pavement, though when he lifted them up, his wings snapped downward, sending him half-walking, half fucking _bouncing_ across the pavement in a blur of black and red toward a lone, flannel-clad figure leaned up against the wall beneath the overhang of the employee entrance. 

_Well, at least I know she can’t see him._

It took every frayed fiber of self control Lex had in her to keep from bolting after him, though she managed to inhale against the pounding of her heart— _fuck, keep it together, it’s fine, she can’t see him, he can’t hurt anybody_ — and tighten her grip on the plastic bag in her pocket in an attempt to keep herself grounded. 

“ _Ethan_ ,” she hissed under her breath despite the fact that she knew, deep down, he was too far away to hear her— and that the bastard would ignore her if he did. 

_Fuck._

This wasn’t part of the plan. 

Her hand shook as she carefully slid it out of her pocket and curled it into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palms to a point where she could feel her hands sweating. Fucking gross. 

_Please don’t do anything stupid, please don’t do anything stupid._

Repeating it like a mantra as Ethan skidded to a stop next to where Deb was standing, Lex forced herself to give Deb a halfway wave of acknowledgement as she neared the spot, trying her best to ignore the fact that Ethan was flitting around like some massive hummingbird next to her. Wing was swirling in the air around her, causing her hair to whip back, and when she stepped within earshot of Deb, the taller girl gave a soft laugh. 

“Fuckin’ windy,” she remarked, sliding one hand under her beanie, forcing a few loose ringlets back under the yellow, knitted cap. “Breeze came outta nowhere.”

“No kidding,” Lex agreed, stopping a few feet in front of her. “Wish it’d fuck off already.”

Ethan glared at her in response. “Rude,” he grumbled, though when he did, he folded his wings against his back. His long tai still skittered across the ground behind him, and as Lex watched it whipping through the remnants of the autumn leaves, she fiddled with the plastic bag in her pocket.

Deb followed her gaze momentarily. 

This was always Lex’s least favorite part of doing what she was doing. It was a _drug deal_ , not a fucking social event, but she felt the need to at least _try_ making smalltalk with Alice’s girlfriend. Even if she was selling said girlfriend pot. 

It would’ve been easier if Ethan wasn’t hanging over Deb’s shoulder. He wasn’t touching her, not that Lex could see, anyway, but from the way he was propped up with his legs crossed neatly at the ankle and his tail coiled around his arm like a snake, it almost looked like he was waiting for the right moment to strike.

“So are you two fucking or what?” He asked. “‘Cause I’m getting a bit of a tense vibe, not sure if you’re picking up on it, though.”

Lex’s eyelid twitched. Her fingers quivered. Setting her jaw, she kept her gaze trained on Deb, the hand in her pocket running over the edge of the plastic bag repeatedly in an attempt to keep her from looking Ethan’s way even as he continued speaking, the sharp edge in his voice making her more than a little bit aware that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. 

“Are her and that chick even together anymore? Fuck, what’ser name…”

When he trailed off, Lex took a step closer to Deb. “You wanted an eighth, right?” She started to say, fiddling with the baggie. “‘Cause that’s what I’ve got you down for.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good,” Deb agreed, reaching into the pocket of her loose fitting flannel to grab a handful of crumpled bills. “Fuck, I owe you thirty, right?”

Before Lex could even attempt to answer, Ethan broke the silence at a volume that caused her to jump— _literally_ jump— shoulders shooting up to her ears and body reflexively spinning to better face him where he stood behind Deb. 

_“DRUGS?”_ He gasped. His mouth hung slightly agape in a scandalized expression. One of his clawed hands thumped against the fabric of his shirt, twisting it tightly. “ _Alexandra,_ I thought better of you— and to _Deborah,_ no less— hoh-lee _shit!_ I didn’t know you dealt! Fuck, I’ve probably—”

Deb stepped into her field of vision before he could get another word out. “Jesus, Lex, you okay?” She asked, though the nervous tinge in her voice sounded more as though it was from fear of getting busted than actual concern, not that Lex could really call her out for it.

_Fuck._

_Great._

_Think of something—_

“Sorry, yeah, just… thought I heard something. Been a little on edge lately,” she hastily explained, at which Deb gave a sympathetic nod. 

“Hey, all good— just wanted to make sure you didn’t hear that Sam asshole or whatever.” 

Lex managed a weak laugh. “Yeah, no. _God_. Don’t even say his name. Dude’s got superhearing. He’ll overhear and fuckin’ materialize outta nowhere.” 

One time in juvie for selling was one thing, but twice was the beginning of a habit, and she really, _really_ didn’t need to give Frank another reason to hate her guts any more than he already undoubtedly did. 

“Or you’d summon him— some Beetlejuice shit up in here,” Deb snickered in response.

Ethan made a choked noise. It sounded more like a muffled laugh than the growl it looked like he was trying to play it off as.

“Oh, man, too soon, Deb,” he chided, shaking his head slightly and taking a small step closer. His tail dragged behind him. Even though his hands were in his pockets, Lex couldn’t help but think he was just waiting for the right moment to pounce on the pair of them like some big cat, or a creature in a fairytale. 

Her hackles raised.

From the way Deb frowned, it must’ve shown on her face that she was uneasy. 

“...you _sure_ you’re okay? You’ve got the shit, right?” 

In response, Lex pulled the plastic bag out from her pocket. “Hell yeah,” she enthused, albeit, weakly. “And yeah, that’ll be thirty.”

“Sweet. I’ve just got the two twenties—”

“Shit, I don’t have any change, I can go inside and—”

Deb waved her off. “Nah. Keep it. Consider it a thank you for not lacing my shit.”

Lex blinked.

_Pity?_

It didn’t seem likely, not from Deb, but it still made Lex’s brows furrow. “...you sure?” She asked.

Deb responded by pushing the bills a little closer. “Yeah, it’s just ten bucks— consider it a tip.”

“You don’t tip a drug dealer, Deb,” Lex got out through a laugh.

“Wel, Foster, it’s a damn fine service you’re providing, so… just take it. Gotta owe ya something for the fact that I haven’t overdosed yet.”

“Alice’d fucking kill me if I—”

Ethan snapped his fingers. “ _ALICE!”_ He parroted, enthusiastically, “that’s it! God, right, she moved like _right before_ —”

“—let you.” Lex finished, raising her voice to speak above him. “And you make her happy— be a sort of shitty best friend thing to do if I suddenly axed you outta fuckin’ nowhere.” 

“Probably,” Deb agreed.

Behind her, Ethan flared his wings open. “Ah, hey, gettin’ axed outta nowhere ain’t all that bad. I’d say I lived through it, but…” Trailing off, he shot Lex a crooked smile when she made the mistake of looking at him. “Well, y’know. _Didn’t_.” 

For a split second, his smile looked… almost forced. 

Less biting. 

More… human— like a shitty smile that was supposed to cover up some joke that accidentally dredged up more than he’d wanted to share, though when Lex blinked, any specks of humanity had completely disappeared from his gaze.

His tail flicked. 

Her hands twitched. 

“...hey, earth to Lex,” Deb huffed.

_What—_

Lex’s gaze shot to the hand extended in front of her, the two wrinkled twenties loosely pinned between Deb’s fingers. 

_—oh._

“Shit, sorry, thanks.” Spitting the words out in a bit of a jumble, Lex clumsily took the bills from Deb’s hand, switching them out for the bag in her pocket. “Been a long day,” she tried to excuse, earning herself a funny look from Deb.

“It’s like seven am,” she pointed out, slowly. 

Behind her, Ethan shot her that infuriating smirk, lip lifting up just enough to show off the twin points of his fangs. Even though he didn’t say a word, his expression was more than easy to read. He was enjoying it. 

Every fucking second.

What an asshole.

Swallowing, Lex carefully dragged her fingers through her hair and gave a low huff of a sigh. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Deb clicked her tongue sympathetically. “That’s ass.”

With a sharp nod, again, she tugged at her hair. “Yeah, it… really is. Got a long shift today— which I should really be getting to. Not that this isn’t fun—”

“Oh, yeah,” Ethan talked over her, “been a fuckin’ hoot—”

_Talk over him._

“—but I’ve really gotta get going. S’posed to be in early for stocking and a price check, and a couple deliveries are coming in tomorrow, so... “ Trailing off, ignoring the fact that Ethan had stood up properly— no longer leaning against the wall, instead, shuffling his feet and changing his position to what could easily be called a ready stance— Lex shrugged and returned her hands to her pockets.

In her chest, the speed of her heartbeat increased exponentially. 

A knot formed in her throat.

She tried her best to choke it back. “See you around,” she finished, lamely. 

With a nod, Deb gave a two-fingered salute, tapping it twice against the edge of her yellow beanie. “See ya— next time I need a hit, I’ll make sure to call ya up.”

Automatically, Lex shot her finger guns before turning to the door they’d been next to— one of the employee entrances for ToyZone— and tugging her keys out of the pocket of her jeans. In her hand, the lanyard shook slightly. 

_Damn it._

_Now he’s gonna know you’re nervous._

* * *

She was nervous. 

Grinning as she fumbled with her keys before sticking one of them into the lock, Ethan rocked back and forth on his heels. 

She’d been hard to read last night, but here in the daylight, Lex’s anxiety was far too easy to see in the way her hands shook and twitched in front of her even as the sound of the lock sliding out of place broke the silence between them. 

“...what, scared it’ll bite?” He asked.

Her hand froze inches from the doorknob. Her fingers curled inward, forming a tight, white-knuckled fist that hovered in the air, extended uselessly in front of her. When she inhaled, it was a slow thing that caused her shoulders to rise up toward her ears. 

_Probably more scared that_ I’ll _bite._

Not that he could or anything. Stupid contract.

His tail flicked.

...not that she knew it’d _actually_ do anything against him, though. That much was proven when their eyes met and he flashed her his best, toothy smile and she winced.

“...nobody but me can see you… right?” 

Her voice wobbled slightly as the words left her lips. The lanyard slipped from her grasp, and as he watched it sway in the small breeze, he couldn’t help but pull one hand out of his pocket and flex his claws. “Yeah, that’s th’ gist,” he agreed, “‘less you say I can show up—”

“No.”

“I’m just explaining—”

“ _No,”_ she repeated, going as far as to turn and face him— jamming one accusing finger his way. He held his ground. “Get that thought out of your head— that’s not happening, alright?” 

Shifting his wings, Ethan forced himself to nod. “Hey, never said it was. Just tryin’ to explain how this works, seeing as you _kinda_ sorta walked blindly into the whole ‘supernatural forces’ thing or whatever.” 

Not that he cared.

God. 

It was fucking _entertaining_ , seeing her open and close her mouth as though she was trying to find some way to dispute him, not that she really could. After all, he was completely right and he knew it— she’d _admitted it to him last night, fuck’s sake._

A stupid choice for sure, but hey, he wasn’t going to judge. Not many people would make the mistake of telling the demon they’d summoned that they’d done it completely by accident, but he sure as shit wasn’t complaining about it.

Just made his job easier. 

A job that he was quickly realizing he _loved_.

Even if he hadn’t managed to get closer to stealing her soul, he _had_ managed to get her fingers to twitch even faster than they had before, tapping out a sharp, quick pulse on her hip.

“...right,” she finally responded. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Okay. Just… fuck, I dunno— stay quiet? Please?” 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

_Jesus, just light a fucking cig already._

Her house reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap booze, and although it was _probably_ something he could thank his demon senses or what-the-hell-ever for picking up on, it was a good enough tell for him to figure out that Lex _absolutely_ smoked. 

And from what he’d just seen, he could _also_ tell she _probably_ smoked weed. 

Tick that fucking box on the cliché list that seemed to be Lex Foster’s life and move on. 

Along with… the biting sarcasm, the single mother (who’d gone off the deep end and turned to drinking in some attempt to feel control after being left with the two of them, if he had to take a guess at her tragic backstory), the little sister she had to raise by herself—

“...is this you listening?” 

Blinking, Ethan forced himself back to the present, meeting Lex’s critical gaze.

“...maybe,” he responded with a flick of his tail. 

To her? No. 

Not by choice, anyway.

Not on _purpose._

His wings lazily flared open as he took a step closer to Lex. “Guess you’ll find out.”

Lex huffed under her breath, and without looking back at him, swung open the door with a sharp bang— the metal handle hitting the wall hard enough to add another dent to the already chipped building. “Already did,” she snapped.

He stepped through the door behind her without so much as a second thought. 

He felt it close before he heard it. 

Felt it close with a soft thump.

On his fucking tail. 

“ _SHIT!”_ The word escaped him before he could even try to close it back. Stumbling, turning as well as he could despite the fact that the pointed, red end of his tail was wedged on the other side of the door, Ethan flared open his wings to keep himself from falling flat on his ass. 

The noise echoed through the narrow concrete hallway of the mall’s interior, and although one of his wings slammed against the wall on his left, buckling under his weight—

It didn’t hurt. 

He knew it should’ve— fuck’s sake, his _ass_ should’ve hurt, he’d nearly yanked his tail clean off— but as he jammed his elbow against the door and flicked his tail through the gap, he didn’t feel a thing. 

Well. 

Not until a noise broke the silence. A laugh. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Lex Foster give a genuine laugh, and as the high, wheezing sort of noise— a sharp thing that made his ears hurt— shot through the silence, he _was_ sure that he never fucking wanted to hear it again. 

“What the hell was _that?”_

 _Now_ he fucking felt something. Sucked that it was embarrassment. 

Ducking his head, moving to storm past her, Ethan found the narrow hallway keeping him trapped where he was. His wings didn’t want to fold right. His tail whipped back and forth

Lex was still laughing at him. She wasn’t even making an _effort_ to hide it. 

Ethan’s features contorted into a harsh scowl. “Shut up,” he growled out through his fangs, “just sh—”

“Uh, _no?”_

Pocketing her lanyard, Lex brought one hand up to her face, wiping it slightly, before turning on a heel and continuing forward, still giggling in a way that made Ethan’s blood boil in his veins. “First of all, you don’t get to tell me to shut up, and second of all? Fucking christ, I knew you weren’t ever the smartest guy, but _Jesus,_ dude.” 

This time, when he followed her, his tail dragged. His steps were slow. 

His jaw twitched. 

“Lex,” he started, his voice coming out in the same menacing growl that had made her face drain of color the night before, “I’m _serious_. Shut up.”

She didn’t. 

_God_ , as much as he knew the contract forbade him from doing it, he had half a mind to just pounce on her right fucking there. He was stronger. He had height on his side, weight, a wicked set of claws— he could fucking _obliterate_ her in the dingy hallway and nobody would be the wiser. She wouldn’t be able to even cry out before he’d drive his claws right through her fucking neck and silence her once and for all, leaving her bleeding to death, alone, afraid, uncared for by anyone other than family— not that they’d be able to see her in her last moments, no, because she’d end up just like he—

He blinked. 

_Where the hell did that come from?_

Shoulders stiffening at the images that flashed through his mind clearly enough that he’d practically been able to _feel_ the warmth of blood under his hands, not that it was an unfamiliar feeling— no, it was one he knew well, and it was one he’d be able to feel again if he just went for it. 

It probably wouldn’t hurt as much as it had the first time. 

It probably wouldn’t hurt at _all_ — at least, it wouldn’t hurt _him,_ it’d only hurt—

_Stop._

_Fucking stop._

_Stop that right now._

His tail whipped against the wall. 

In his pockets, his claws dug deep into the palms of his hands. 

He hadn’t stopped moving— still trailing after Lex like a lost puppy as she neared the end of the hall, the noise of her laughter still reaching his ears, though… was it quieter?

Unable to keep it in as she reached the door at the end of the hallway, Ethan gave a low growl. “...is this you listening?” 

When she looked at him, faint traces of a smile on her face despite the irritation lurking just beneath its surface, though her gaze didn’t stay trained on his own for all that long. Instead, she glanced down at his tail and smirked. “...maybe.” 

That white hot feeling in his chest simmered there slightly. It was still heavy— still crushingly fucking heavy— but… 

When he met her eyes, slowly, his fists uncurled. 

Silence fell between them. 

It only lasted a few seconds, but in it… on Lex’s face, Ethan swore up and down he saw some weird expression she seemed to wear pretty damn often. Her lips were pursed slightly— quirked upward at a weird angle, but pressed in a thin line— and although there was that halfway smirk there with it, there was some heaviness to her gaze that he couldn’t quite place. Something that made it seem like she was older than eighteen. 

“...if you get your tail stuck in _this_ door,” she instructed with a jab of her index finger in his direction, shoulder pressing against the bar of the second door— _she must’ve already put in the code for the keypad_ , “I’m not gonna even _try_ holding back.”

Ethan’s eyebrows raised. “Did you the first time?”

The door popped open under her weight. 

“No.” 

That should’ve made him angrier. 

The smug look she was wearing— smug and defiant— should’ve made him utter some threat toward her and bare his teeth. Hell, he knew Wiley would’ve done it— the greasy prick probably would’ve found some loophole and managed to do her in within _seconds_ of materializing, but he’d given her enough time to trap him in an _actual_ bargain, along with enough time to get to work and shoot him that triumphant grin. 

The triumphant grin that for some reason, made him crack a small smile. 

“Figured.” 


	14. here one minute (then it's gone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW List for this chapter: Flashbacks and death.

The smile had been a fucking fluke.

She didn’t really know  _ why _ she thought it had been anything else, but there had been something about it that set it apart from his other toothy sneers and made him look almost human where he stood, if she just ignored the horns curling up from his skull and the bat wings filling the hallway behind him and the tail still flicking diligently at his side. 

He looked a lot less like a monster when he was smiling. 

He looked almost like Ethan Green, and as she met his eyes, she noticed that the thin, animal slits that she’d grown accustomed to were… rounder. It was only for a split second before he blinked, but she swore— she fucking  _ swore _ — his eyes looked way less snakelike and more humanoid. More seeing. Less… awful than they had been before, though the second he blinked—

_ Ah. There it is. _

—it disappeared, 

“...so are we just gonna stand here or—”

Without waiting for him to finish, Lex popped the door open and shot through it. She didn’t bother looking back. The hallway echoed enough that she could easily hear when his wings folded shut and his steps quickened to match hers, and when he pushed the door open a little extra to avoid jamming his tail in it. 

“—taking that as an ‘or not’, then,” he huffed. “Whatever. God. Never thought I’d be back here.”

Raising a hand to flick on the lights, Lex quirked a brow in his direction the second the dull buzzing of the bulbs filled the air. “In the… backroom of ToyZone?” 

Ethan rolled his eyes. “ _ No _ , back in this fuckin’  _ mall,”  _ he clarified with a flick of his tail behind him. “I mean, god, it ain’t changed at  _ all _ .” Glancing down at his claws, he gave a small shrug. “‘Cept for the lights out front burning out or whatever.”

“How the hell do you know?”

The demon shrugged. “Making a guess.” With a broad gesture at the dimly-lit back room that made Lex’s features pull back in an involuntary wince—  _ fuck, don’t let him say a word—  _ he took a few steps forward, dragging his claws across the top of the nearest crate of stock. 

“Be careful with that,” Lex cautioned almost automatically, reluctantly following after him on his way, “Frank’ll have my ass if you fuck anything up.”

Without doing so much as batting an eye, Ethan dug his nails in further. “Hope so,” he returned, evenly, before pulling his hand away— the sharp sound of wood splintering under his touch enough to make Lex’s fingers twitch. 

Her shoulders drew up in time with a long, slow breath in. 

_ Fuck. _

_ Don’t let him get to you. _

If he knew he was getting to her, he’d just keep fucking doing it— it was one of the only things her mother had taught her, not that she’d sat her down and explained it, no, she’d just gone and done the same shit to her for eighteen miserable years until she’d figured it out herself to a point where when Ethan shot her a smug smirk—  _ smirk, not a smile, god, he totally didn’t smile earlier _ — she recognized the look in his eyes. 

She saw it in her mother’s drunken gaze every time the bitch managed to stumble her groggy way home and smack her around— or worse, when she’d gotten to  _ Hannah _ before she’d been able to step in the way— it was mirrored damn near perfectly on Ethan’s face as he leaned against the supply crate and flicked his tail. 

“...you ain’t gonna tell me to stop?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

Without looking at him, Lex gingerly tugged down her clipboard from where she’d left it last time she’d done stock checks, taking a moment to untie the pen from where it hung— attached to the board with a shitty piece of twine, like she’d steal something that had been there for god knew how long. “Would you listen if I did?” She returned after a beat of silence she used to set her jaw. 

When she turned her back, it took every ounce of effort to keep from stiffening when the noise of him slashing another line across the crate sounded through the back room. “Probably not.” 

“Well…” Trailing off, she gave a loose shrug, painfully aware of the fact that his eyes were boring twin holes in her back, “there you go. Though— tip for you— if you wanted me to  _ actually _ fall for that shit, maybe you could  _ pretend _ like you’re actually gonna listen first. That was kinda sad.” She clicked the pen for punctuation. 

Even when she heard him moving behind her, she refused to turn around despite the chill it made break over her skin to not know exactly where he was. 

_ He can’t hurt me. _

She forced herself to look over the stock.

_ He can’t hurt anyone. _

_ He’s just going to be a nuisance.  _

_ He’s just trying to get to you. _

_ You’re fine. _

_ It’s fine. _

_ It’s no big deal. _

Exhaling shakily through her teeth, Lex forced herself to tick off the numbers she practically had down by heart, skimming through the discarded ouija boards as well as she could— more of a guess than a proper count, but in her defense, the fact that things  _ worked _ was more than enough reason for her not to want to touch them. Under her too-big sweater, the skin on her arms prickled into gooseflesh no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that everything was fine.

Mostly because she knew everything sure as shit  _ wasn’t  _ fine. 

Try as she might to keep her hand steady on the clipboard, the lines of her letters wobbled every time she heard something behind her shuffling, though whenever she thought she should turn…

No. 

She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she was nervous—  _ fucking hell.  _

It was really hard not to. 

“...was I right?” He asked after what felt like hours of silence. 

She pressed the pen tip to the page. A blot of ink formed next to the tally for model cars, though she paid it no mind. Slowly, cautiously, she turned to glance over her shoulder. “About what?” She asked, somewhat warily. 

From where he sat on the damaged box, Ethan shrugged his wings and gave a flick of his wrist. “About everythin’ in this shithole being the same,” he explained, rapping his claws along the edge of the crate— the crate that was  _ splintered _ in a way that Lex already knew she wouldn’t be able to explain, bordering on cracked in some spots. 

Lex narrowed her eyes. “Well, that box, for one,” she grumbled, jutting out her chin toward the damage, “has changed a lot in the past ten minutes.”

Another scratch. 

Ethan’s tail flicked. 

“You know that ain’t what I’m talkin’ about.” Sitting upright, looking almost like a dog waiting for some table scraps, Ethan rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood. “I mean, c’mon. Alice and Deb are still goin’ steady, is… I dunno the Cinnabon still up an’ running?” 

_ Really? _

_ You’ve been dead for what, a year?  _

_ And all you care about is Cinnabon? _

Eyebrows creeping upward into her hairline, Lex clicked the pen and tucked the clipboard under her arm. “... _ that’s _ what you’re concerned about?” 

Ethan mirrored her expression. “Are you really gonna get on my case about it? I don’t remember like,  _ anything _ about this place,” he explained, wings shifting on his back, “so I figured I’d start simple.”

Lex tilted her head slightly. “Wait,” she started, raising one hand to push her hair out of her face, “you don’t remember?” 

Even though it was a small movement, Lex could clearly see his jaw twitch from where she stood. His nostrils flared. The constant movement of his hands along the edges of the box ground to a halt, though his fingers dug a little into the wood. 

She could’ve sworn she saw him shudder, though when she opened her mouth to comment—

“Not really,” he finally mumbled before standing up and stretching his arms above his head, wings flaring open to complete the lazy looking stretch. “I mean, not like Hatchetfield  _ was _ super memorable or anything like that, but… nothin’.” 

When their eyes met, his pupils seemed a little thinner than they had been before.

...which was sort of offputting, if she was being honest. Sure, the way he was holding himself was  _ relaxed _ , but there was  _ also _ some weird tension in his shoulders— one of them drawn up just a little higher than the other, and his tail hadn’t joined in the stretch, still lashing, cracking against the shelves as he turned his back to her and stuck his hands as his pockets. 

“...right,” she agreed, warily tailing after him. 

_ Stocking’s… mostly done. Frank won’t be in for another half hour. Store doesn’t open for another forty five…  _

The thought of it alone was enough to make her stiffen involuntarily.  _ Shit _ . Starting work was one thing— a shitty thing, sure, but one she’d dealt with enough to be used to— but being alone with a demon who was actively… something— not aggressive, not bitter, just  _ there _ in a way that made her skin prickle and her stomach twist for god fucking knew what reason. 

He wasn’t even  _ aggressive _ . He was just  _ there _ , just existing in the same general vicinity of her, not even  _ doing anything _ other than  _ walking _ — but it was enough to make her mind flood with unsteady thoughts and her palms sweat as she flicked on the rest of the store lights and closed the backroom’s door with a soft click. 

Leaving her alone in ToyZone with a fucking demon. 

There were a lot of things she would’ve expected it to be, but awkward sure as shit wasn’t one of them. After all, he was  _ literally _ a demon straight from hell or where the fuck ever— fear was an emotion she’d expected to feel, not the uncomfortable bullshit that settled over her the second she slid behind the counter and onto her rickety stool to unlock the register and made the mistake of looking up to meet those cat-eyes she’d grown to hate in a record-shattering half day. 

“...can I help you?”

From where he was leaning on the other side of the checkout, he shrugged. “See, I feel like this is a trap.” 

The sharp noise of his claws rapping on wood made Lex’s hackles raise. 

“Hey, paws off,” she huffed, swatting at the hand that had made its way up to the counter, though he only laughed in return. 

“Whatever. Look, point is—” he stopped, tapping his index finger hard enough on the counter to leave a pock mark—  _ fuck, Frank’s gonna notice that _ — “—that if I say  _ yes _ , you’re gonna tell me to fuck off, and if I say  _ no _ ...” he dragged his finger downward. The black paint on the countertop chipped. 

“I’m  _ also _ gonna tell you to fuck off,” Lex finished for him. “Wow. You’re so smart. They teach you that in hell?” 

Ethan rolled his eyes. From how close he was leaning, Lex could see the slight rising and falling of his shoulders with his every breath. 

_ He breathes? _

It was a weird thing to notice, but once she  _ did _ , she couldn’t exactly  _ un _ -notice it— and to be fair, it was a weird thing for a glorified corpse to be doing in the first place. They weren’t even shuddering or out of place. Just even, short things that marked the time that passed between them in relative silence. 

_...fucking hell, awkward.  _

_ You know it’s awkward when you’re counting how many times he breathes before he talks.  _

“Not sure if it was  _ hell _ ,” he finally broke the steady rhythm of his own breathing with a sharp huff of what  _ could’ve _ been a laugh, “and if it  _ was _ , honestly, didn’t really learn much.”

“Sounds like highschool,” Lex deadpanned. 

Another huff tugged from his throat. “The hell part?” he asked, leaning ever closer and propping one hand on the side of his head, “or the lack of learning?”

For whatever reason, it made her bite back a grin when his tail rose up behind him like a question mark. 

“Yeah.” 

“Fair.”

Pulling her eyes away from his, Lex turned her attention to the register, once again, digging out her keyring. 

From the way Frank had her guard the thing, she had honestly expected the register to have some sort of value— not for her boss to just some sort of fucking Mr. Krabs kinnie. The dude was a textbook definition of a capitalist— right down to the way he  _ talked _ , acting like he was high above her just because he owned a shitty toy store. 

Her hands automatically slid to the front of the register, popping it open with a practiced flick of her wrist and a jingle of her key. 

_ For someone who acts like it has like— the second coming of christ trapped in the drawers, it sure as shit isn’t new.  _

Not that she was  _ going  _ to do it or anything, no, but it’d be easy enough to break into, and as much as she hated to admit it—

“Thinking about stealing?” Ethan asked.

When she looked up, he was still leaning against the counter, though he’d shifted— holding himself a little more upright with a crooked, cocky little smirk, tail slinking back down and out of sight. “Because I kinda am. D’ya think he does register checks?”

“Well,” Lex started, narrowing her eyes when his hand crept closer to the bills, “what do you think I’m doing?”

“Knowing you, stealing.” 

Lex’s lips twitched into a scowl. She knew— she  _ knew _ the prick was just looking for a reaction, but she couldn’t keep herself from bumping her hip against the register, causing the tray to clatter shut. “Knowing me?” She echoed with an incredulous lilt in her voice. “Right, yeah, ‘cause showing up to ruin my life  _ totally _ is the same as being my friend.” 

“You invited me,” he corrected. Shooting her that same stupid smirk—  _ definitely _ not a smile, god, it must’ve just been the shitty lighting that made him look so genuine earlier— he pushed off from the counter and opened his arms as though he was giving some grand proclamation. His claws gleamed in the store lights. “So… we’re  _ basically  _ friends.” 

She blinked. 

Her brows drew together. 

“...I feel like you have a backward definition of friendship,” she grumbled, at which Ethan waved his claws dismissively.

“Sure,” he agreed, “whatever. Either way, you  _ are _ stuck with me, so…” Drawing out the syllable, he bared his teeth in her direction. 

If it was supposed to be a smile, it wasn’t a comforting one. Her skin crawled on her back.

_ Don’t give him a reaction. _

Behind the register, her hand tightened into a fist.

“Y’know,” she growled, leering at him from where she was half sitting, half leaning against the countertop, “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but we’re  _ not _ friends. Not that you’d know how to make friends, seeing as you died without any.” As she spoke, her gaze turned back to the register, her tone short. Clipped. 

The gleam that lit his eyes faded. 

For a split second, if she didn’t know better, she would’ve said he looked almost  _ hurt _ . The wings on his back drooped. The coy smirk he’d worn so proudly faltered— showing off a flash of fangs, not that it made her uneasy.

_ Ha. _

_ God. _

_ Finally.  _

Allowing herself to exhale, she turned her attention back to the register.

_...was that too— _

No.

She couldn’t think like that. 

That wasn’t too far. 

Fuck’s sake, he was a  _ demon _ — not somebody she should feel bad for offending, and besides, he’d been dead for an entire year. Plenty of time to get the fuck over it and move on. 

Her fingers carefully pulled the register back open, albeit, stiffly. 

Frank would be in… any minute to unlock the front and give her his usual spiel. She was counting bills. Ethan had  _ finally _ gone quiet, and from the sound of the clock on the wall ticking and the faint buzz of the electrical to mark the time… maybe this shift wouldn’t be too bad. 

Not looking up, not wanting to give him the acknowledgement that came with eye-contact, not even when a soft creak broke through the air, Lex carefully slid her weight onto the stool. 

She managed to sit there for three fucking seconds before a splintering crash caused her to shoot to her feet. 

* * *

He wouldn’t have been able to hold it back if he fucking  _ tried _ . 

The way she’d spoken had caused it to well in his chest, that hot, sticky feeling that made his arms feel like molten lead and his claws feel so much sharper than they were— and the worst part was that he couldn’t take it out on  _ her _ , which just wasn’t fucking fair. 

So he’d settled for the next best thing. 

The shelf had caved in easily enough under his weight. 

He’d barely even had to put his back into it. 

Hell, as he’d squared his shoulders and exhaled a growl through his teeth, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking that the whole shop was one good sneeze from toppling down— or one firm push.

Which he had been  _ more _ than happy to provide. 

One minute, it had been standing tall, boxes of what had looked to be model cars stacked up on it, along with a couple of mixed lego sets, and the next, it had been tipping on a sharp angle and smashing against the floor with a noise like thunder— the crash alone enough to make his ears ring. 

Bits of lego spewed out from the boxes that had once held them, scattering across the ground and creating a killzone to anyone without shoes, and the model cars were  _ definitely _ shot if the wheel rolling by his feet was any indication— and from the look of it, one of the shelves in the middle had broken upon impact— bits of wood having actually skewered through some of the boxes that had been trapped beneath the brunt of the impact. 

It was going to cost a fucking fortune to fix. 

It  _ also _ wasn’t his problem

And as far as he was concerned, the noise Lex made was fucking  _ priceless _ . 

Hatchetfield didn’t exactly need a scream queen or anything, but he had to admit as the ringing in his ears subsided— that was a killer audition for the hour. 

Fucking hell, it was like, what, eight in the morning— and he’d already heard her scream not once, but  _ twice _ , though this one was  _ way _ more coherent than the last awkward shriek when she’d seen him in the mirror— and that went without mentioning the fact that she was completely  _ awake _ , this time. 

“WHAT THE  _ FUCK  _ IS  _ WRONG  _ WITH YOU?” She shrilled, though he didn’t turn around, instead, opting to put his hands in his pockets and kick a little at the nearest lego brick— one of the longish red ones that’d hurt like a bitch to step on barefoot. 

He was vaguely aware of the fact that she was standing, thanks to the sound of her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum along with her stool being pushed away from the checkout. “Hey— what the fuck—”

“I didn’t know it’d fall,” he interrupted, taking a few steps closer to the carnage. 

It didn’t look like it’d hit any of the other shelves, which was sorta disappointing. He’d half been expecting it to slam into one of the shelves next to it and send the whole store tumbling down in some weird domino-effect bullshit— not that this wasn’t fucking spectacular. 

When he finally turned his head to face her, it was because she’d made a sound that he’d expect to come out of a small dog getting kicked in the side, and it would’ve been a damn shame  _ not _ to have seen the face she made with it. 

“You—” She started, stopping a few inches from the edge of the wreckage before blinking slowly, looking as though she was trying to will the shelf back into place through the power of denial. Her hands were shaking, twitching in a way that had grown familiar to him—  _ hell _ yeah to setting off a nervous tic. 

_ I could make a fucking game out of this.  _

Just some way of tallying it all up. Wiley would probably find it stupid, but in all honesty,  _ fuck _ that guy— he may as well get  _ some _ enjoyment out of tormenting the living hell out of her. 

All she’d done was just throw the fact that he was dead in his face, which wasn’t fair. Like. At  _ all _ . 

Behind him, his tail started to thrash. The tight feeling in his chest was back, back in a way that made him set his jaw and ball his hands into fists in his pockets. It was a low fucking blow, that was for sure,  _ especially _ after he’d made an attempt to talk to her like a normal person would. 

_ Apparently she doesn’t want that. _

Fine by him. 

If he was going to be tallying up all this shit, his one little encounter was probably a highscore— already, he’d gotten the finger twitching, the slow inhale, the rapid blinking, the loss of colour on her cheeks,  _ and _ he’d gotten her to stop mid-sentence. 

_ Five points. _

“—You  _ seriously _ expect me to believe that?” Breaking him out of his thoughts with an incredulous scoff, Lex took a step closer, tangling her fingers in her hair—

_ Six. _

—before yanking them downward. “ _ Fuck _ , how the hell am I supposed to fix this? I can’t believe you…” Her gaze snapped to meet his. 

He grinned in response. He couldn’t hold it back— she just looked so  _ mad _ , her lips curled in a way that would’ve been intimidating had she not been trembling lightly.

_ Seven points. _

“...can’t believe I—”

_ “FUCK!” _ Without warning, she spun, kicking the nearest broken box to her with enough force to send it sailing into another shelf. It was some model car’s case, and when her foot connected with its packaging, the whole thing split down the back, sending a miniature wheel careening across the floor. 

He snorted into his hand. 

He couldn't help it. 

From the way that Lex stiffened— 

_ Eight. _

—he knew she was seething before she shot him a withering glare. 

“I’m gonna have to tell my boss that a shelf collapsed when I was on shift, thanks to you,  _ fuck _ , I can’t lose this job, I can’t—”

A groan tugged up from his throat before he could even try to choke it back down. “ _ Jesus _ , don’t be so  _ dramatic _ ,” he growled out to her, rocking back on his heels. As he moved, his tail continued to whip back and forth, sending a yellow lego brick sailing. “It’s not a big deal—”

“ _ You just cost me my fucking job—” _

He interrupted her with a sharp laugh. “Oh,  _ bullshit!” _ Raising his voice and flashing her his teeth, Ethan felt his wings threatening to tug open on his back. “Look, if Frankie looks at the security tapes, it’ll just be you kickin’ that one box— and honestly, if he  _ does _ fire you, it ain’t my problem, seeing as I’m  _ dead _ .” There was a growl working its way into his words, and on the word “dead”, he practically  _ spat _ it at her, the word pulling from him in a low, awful hiss. 

Turning his back on her, he gave another small bark of laughter. “What’re you gonna do? Blame it on the guy who fucking  _ died _ outside, huh? See how he believes you, then. He’ll think you’re crazier than your fuckin’  _ sister _ —”

Something hit the end of his tail. 

_ Hard. _

His shoulders rose up to his ears. His wings flared open. 

He didn’t need to turn around to know it was her shoe. Brows drawing together, shoulders shooting up to his ears, he didn’t turn even as the pressure on the end of his tail worsened, not exactly painful, but  _ uncomfortable _ .

“Don’t you  _ fucking _ talk about Hannah like that,” Lex hissed, stomping down further when she swore, “you understand me? I get that you’re a tortured soul or whatever— but if I hear  _ any _ of that again, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” He interrupted, his voice dangerously soft. 

“I’ll send you back.”

“Can’t—”

“Bullshit.” Again, the pressure worsened. The pointed end of his tail dug into the linoleum, and when he tried to shift his weight, the strain of it being pulled taut was enough to keep him stock still as Lex hissed out her next sentence. “I’ll figure out how, and I’ll send you back so quick, it’ll be like dying all the fuck over again—”

Something in him snapped. In an instant, he pulled forward, jerking his tail sharply out from under her foot before  _ whirling _ to face her— wings snapping to fold against his back. “You think it was fucking  _ quick?”  _ He snarled, hackles rising, lips pulling back to show off a mess of jagged, jutting fangs. His whole body tensed to a point where it felt as though he’d snap in half, quivering lightly under his heavy jacket, not out of rage, but out of fear, fear of the images rising in the back of his head—

_ He couldn’t breathe. _

_ There was pain, there was a punch, then a coppery taste in his mouth, and then his lungs had felt heavy. Like they were filling.  _

_ Where was he? _

_ What had happened? _

_ He couldn’t open his eyes all the way, or if they  _ were  _ all the way open, there was a sickly white creeping over the sides of his vision in fragmented pieces in time with his shuddering, damp breaths that were turning more and more ragged.  _

_ His head hurt. His sides hurt. His back hurt.  _

_ It hurt. _

_ Everything hurt. _

_ Everything hurt so bad, he just wanted it to stop, to stop, to stop to  _ **_stop, to—_ **

“You think it was  _ quick?”  _ He repeated, taking a heavy step forward.

Lex flinched. 

He didn’t stop. 

His lips pulled back, showing off his teeth as he spat his next sentence at her, eyes narrowing in a leer. “What, ‘cause getting  _ fucking murdered _ only takes a few seconds? Huh? Thanks for that,  _ Alexandra _ , glad you understand how it feels to fucking  _ die!”  _

His voice broke. 

_ Shit. _

When he inhaled, his breath shuddered slightly. 

For a moment, it looked like Lex’s glare softened. 

_ Shit, no. _

Balling his hands into fists, he gave a sharp exhale through his teeth. “Glad you fuckin’ understand” he bit, “maybe it’ll make it  _ easy  _ when someone finally wises the hell up and sticks a knife through your fucking ribs. I’d explain it, but you  _ clearly _ know already.” 

“I—”

Before she could tell him  _ what _ , exactly, she thought, the sound of the front sliding door opening caused her to snap her mouth shut.

The fight went out of her in a split second— hell, if he would’ve blinked, he wouldn’t have even seen it, but with their eyes locked like they were, it was more than easy to see that spark of defiance flicker and die. 

Her expression dropped when a voice rang out through the room.

“Alexandra?”

Ethan didn’t think he’d ever be relieved to hear an authority figure breaking the silence with a shocked, angry tone of voice— but there was no mistaking the feeling that crashed over him, piling on top of the still smouldering  _ anger _ coiled low in his belly. 

He would’ve smirked.

He  _ should’ve  _ smirked.

Wiley would’ve.

But all Ethan could manage to do was give a sideways jerk of his head and stuff his hands deep in his pockets. 

“Well, go on,  _ Alexandra _ ,” he growled, jerking his tail away from where it was stuck under her foot with a sound like a whip cracking, “good luck explaining. Really. Y’know, maybe I’m  _ not _ the only one here who’ll die alone. We’ll make matching jackets.”

Sarcasm dripped from his words like acid. They practically sprayed from his mouth, and when he spun around, he smashed his tail as hard as he could against a box, causing it to buckle in the middle with a weighty crunch, though he didn’t bother looking at it. 

Instead, he picked an aisle and stalked down it as quickly as he could without seeming like he was running, long legs only adding to his stride. His tail was still lashing, smacking the shelves at his sides and causing the cheaply-packaged toys to wobble in place. 

He didn’t feel it.

Didn’t see it.

Hell, he didn’t even hear Lex’s boss going ballistic at the damage— the echoes of the pair of them arguing seeming far away over the dull thunder in his ears that would’ve been a heartbeat if he still had one. His stomach was in knots. 

_ Fuck. _

_ Get a grip, Green. _

_ You’re fine. _

_ It’s over. _

The fact he was in the same  _ building _ it had happened in didn’t mean shit. After all, he knew it was over. Fuck’s sake, he had horns and a tail to prove it— he  _ had _ died. It didn’t matter where. Or how. Or who hadn’t been there. It had happened, and that was that. 

Couldn’t fucking fix it, now, unless he…

His tail cracked a little harder against a shelf. 

_ Unless I finish one of them off. _

Humans were so fucking  _ fragile.  _ It wouldn’t be that hard to do one in. He thought they’d be a bit more resilient than they were, but from what he’d gathered from his experience, they were just… sad. Pathetic, even. 

_ God, I sound like a cartoon villain.  _

Flicking his tail again, Ethan inhaled slowly. 

He could do it. Sure, the contract forbade him from hurting them directly, but he could find some workaround to deal with Lex. 

God. Fucking  _ Lex. _

All he could see in his mind’s eye even as he took another turn was Lex’s face, the way she’d looked at him when his voice had caught in his throat— her expression somewhere between fear, confusion, and  _ pity,  _ which didn’t make any  _ sense _ . Pity was the  _ last _ fucking thing he wanted, especially not from  _ her _ .

After all, it wasn’t like he was going to toss any her way. 

That wasn’t part of the plan. 

The  _ plan _ , according to Wiley, was for him to make good on his end of a deal, nab a human— or otherwise, because apparently fucking  _ ghosts _ would do— soul, and somehow… get a second chance. A proper shot at running away, not… whatever the hell he’d wound up with. 

It was only fair, really. After all, although he didn’t  _ really _ know much about Lex, he knew damn well that she wanted to run away. It was painfully obvious. 

And hey, if she didn’t get to  _ physically _ escape, he could swap out for her. 

She’d be out of her situation.

He’d be out of his.

Again, he took a breath in. It didn’t shudder in his throat the same way it had before, and as he took another turn, passing a small display of board games, he raised his head. 

All he had to do was kill her, and they’d both have one-way tickets out of their respective hells. Simple. 


	15. business friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning here for: a pervy old man, I guess? It's somewhat gross content on part of Sherman Young being a major league creep, so tread lightly after the cut if that'll be a problem.

Frank Pricely would describe himself as a reasonable man. 

He would describe himself as optimistic, a saver, and a bit of a pessimist if he was being honest, alongside someone who planned. He had a thing for scheduling out his days. He wore a tie most days, ironed his shirts on Wednesdays, and got the mail every Monday morning at nine thirty on his way back home from work. He kept ToyZone neat and tidy. He worked hard— or at least, as hard as he _had_ to— and for the most part, he’d made good choices when it came to which Hatchetfield teens to employ.

Key words being: _for the most part._

It wasn’t as though he expected all the dropouts and trailer-dwellers he hired to actually _have_ a moral code or anything like that, but from what he could tell, they were at least smart enough to steal behind his back if they did at all, and only one of them had managed to fly under the radar with a pretty normal skillset for longer than four months. 

One Lex Foster, by name. 

Hell, Frank could even say that they were _similar_ , at least, to an extent. She was punctual, seemed to work hard— when she was _asked_ to, anyway— and although her pessimistic nature made her a little hard to approach at times, she did a good enough job manning the front desk that he never truly had any complaints about her, other than the fact that she’d pull out a cigarette at the drop of a hat and stink up the whole place.

She was pretty mild. She stayed in her lane. She was sometimes even _funny_ , with clever comebacks that had time and time again made him huff with something other than irritation, and as much as he had his suspicions about what she got up to when she was stocking, and if the numbers she scrawled down were accurate, but she’d never given him a real reason not to trust her.

Which was why he couldn’t believe what he was looking at.

This wasn’t part of the routine. 

This wasn’t even fucking _close_ to part of the routine. 

The part that was easiest to take in was Lex. The teen was standing, shoulders drawn up to her ears and hands curled into fists, with her back to him. Her breaths were shaking slightly, and from her stance alone, she looked ready to fight— though it all dropped in an instant when he spoke up.

“Alexandra,” he started, slowly, his voice dangerously calm but rising in volume with every incensed syllable, “ _what_ is the _meaning_ of _this_?” 

For a kid who was normally so snarky and headstrong, it was weird to see a look of absolute _dread_ cross her features, though Frank couldn’t care less, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes menacingly as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, frantic eyes darting this way and that before settling on his. 

“I can explain!” She sputtered, “I— I can— if you check the camera—”

“Do you have _any_ idea how much damage you’ve caused?”

“It wasn’t me! I— It fell, y-you can check the tape, the whole thing, it—” turning to face the carnage— _god_ , the carnage— Lex sharply waved a quivering hand toward what had once been a shelf, other hand yanking on her hair. “—it just _fell!”_

“It _fell?”_ He echoed, incredulous. “You expect me to believe that it—”

“ _Yeah I do!”_ Lex snapped over him.

His nostrils flared. His eyebrows raised. A knot formed in his chest— white hot and twisting his insides into a tangled mess that only forced him to breathe deeper to keep from flying off the handle— though now seemed a _pretty appropriate time_ to go ballistic. 

_Reasonable._

_Be reasonable._

Red tinged the corners of his vision. 

Lex really wasn’t helping things, not with her raised chin and defiant eyes— sure, there was a desperation swimming beneath the surface of her expression, but he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about that. 

“Do you really think I’m _stupid?”_

She flinched when his voice rose. 

The fight went out of her eyes. 

Her gaze shifted, tracking from him and down the front of his pink shirt to rest on the floor. 

“...no, sir,” she mumbled. 

He couldn’t help but stand a little straighter at the formality. Raising his head, he looked down his nose at her and harrumphed softly, opening his mouth to speak, though before he could—

“But do you _really_ think I’d be able to push that over by myself?” 

—her voice caused his hackles to rise. God, she didn’t know when to just shut up, did she? He could see the shine of her eyes behind her hair, that spark of stubbornness he’d come to recognize and dread shining brightly in them. 

His eyes narrowed in return. “Do I—” he started, unable to keep himself from repeating her question, the pitch of his voice making him sound as though he was offended, “— _really_ think you’d be able to push that over by yourself?” 

Lex nodded almost feverishly. “Well? I mean, _fuck_ —”

“Language,” he chided, automatically.

Again, she nodded, face scrunching up apologetically. “Right, s-sorry— but it was fully stocked with boxes, I— I’m not weak or anything, b-but I don’t… I don’t think I have the upper body strength to actually knock it over, I…” Again, she raked her fingers through her mess of hair. “I know I wouldn’t be able to do that. The tapes will prove it, y-you leave them running all the time, don’t you? It— I was sitting at the counter and it just…” 

Trailing into silence, Frank watched as she looked over her shoulder at the mess and winced before gesturing at it once again. “Y’know, _collapsed_.”

_Collapsed._

_Right._

His skepticism must’ve shown on his face. 

“Frank, c’mon,” Lex pleaded, standing her ground, but barely. “Just check the tape— I— I _did_ kick that one, but that was afterward— and I’ll pay for it if it’s broken.” Bending over, she carefully picked up a somewhat dented box, the loose pieces in it rattling at the movement. 

_Do lego bricks normally rattle quite like that?_

He wasn’t _stupid_ , he knew they made _noise_ , but as Lex presented the box to him, he couldn’t help but think that they didn’t normally make _that_ much noise. But then again, normally they hadn’t been kicked by a hormonal teen, or _crushed when said hormonal teen pushed over the shelf it was on._ She had to have done it— things like that didn’t just _happen_ on their own. Not even in a town like Hatchetfield. 

Shoulders tense, he gingerly took the box from her, trying not to focus on the rattle of loose pieces— _broken_ pieces— inside. “ _Thank you_ ,” he hissed through his teeth, tucking it loosely under his arm before shooting Lex another heated glare. “You _will_ be paying for this, and as for the rest—”

“Did you even hear me?” She sputtered, though Frank didn’t bother paying much attention to the damn near pained look on her face.”

“Your _excuses?_ ” He finished for her, unable to keep his rising temper from flaring through his voice, if only for a moment.

It faltered when Lex flinched. 

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Alexandra—” 

Another flinch.

“—I understand that you come from a troubled place, but this is _not_ acceptable behavior for a work environment! I don’t know what’s going on with you, but recently, you’ve been…”

Was there a nice way of saying that she’d been acting almost like she was constantly cracked out? It wasn’t the classiest wording, but he honestly couldn’t think of another way to describe it. The girl had been twitchier these past few days— this past _week_ — twitchy, snarkier than normal when spoken to, bags under her eyes heavier and makeup somewhat crusted onto her skin, but beyond that… she’d looked borderline _nervous_ at times, whenever he’d walk into stocking, like she was expecting him to throw himself at her with a loud shout, intent on scaring her. 

“I know it’s not my place to say,” he picked back up, his tone thin, “but you seem… _off_ . You’ve _seemed_ off, these past weeks, and I can’t help but think that—”

Disgust twisted across her face. “No, you’re not listening! I—” Stopping herself to give an agitated little noise in the back of her throat and to tug on her hair, she slammed her hands down at her sides. “—I’m _fine_. I don’t let my home life and my work mix, okay? Not unless I bring Hannah with me, a-and I always check with you first!” The words were spilling from her faster by the second, though when she paused for breath, Frank stepped back in despite the fact that she looked like she had more to say. 

“I’m well aware of that, Alexandra—”

“Lex,” she corrected, stiffly pointing to her nametag, the thing halfway falling off her wrinkled vest, “but continue.” 

Frank’s eyebrows raised.

His lips pressed together, forming a thin line as his nostrils once again flared out. 

“ _Lex_ ,” he repeated after a tense silence, at which she gave him a somewhat jerky nod of affirmation, “I don’t know _what’s_ wrong with you, but _this?”_ He gestured to the shelf, causing her to give a small wince when she followed the direction of his wave. “Al— Lex, I can’t let this go.”

Straightening his back, he pressed his hands together in front of him. “You’ve been a great employee, but—”

“Mr. Pricely, _please.”_

He stopped. 

She had _never_ called him Mr. Pricely. It was always Frank, or Frankie, if she was in an especially good mood— but _never_ by his last name. No matter how much he corrected her, she would default right back to using the nickname to a point where the proper use of his name stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“... _what?_ ” He asked, slowly, locking eyes with the teenager before going silent altogether. 

He shouldn’t have. 

He _knew_ he shouldn’t have, but for some reason, at her words, a voice in the back of his mind rose up and caused him to shut his mouth rather than continue the speech he’d given to at least a dozen other unstable teens since Lex had been hired on. The I’m-Sorry-But-Not-Really-Now-Leave speech was one he’d gotten down to an art form, and it was one he was fully prepared to give, but when he tried…

Again, something stirred in his mind.

The feeling grew stronger when he met Lex’s pleading eyes. 

“I… I _swear_ ,” she begged— actually _begged_ , her whole expression shifting into one of pure dread, “I didn’t touch it, y-you can check the tapes. Cameras don’t lie, right? A-And that thing—” Pausing, she swung her arm up to the camera mounted just above the desk. The little red light blinked back down at her. “—it’s always on, right? And you have the only key to your office…” 

Automatically, his hand tracked down to the keys at his side, fingers brushing against the brass ring before settling back at his side. 

“There’s no way I could’ve gotten in there,” she continued, “t-to fuck with— _mess with_ — the tapes, th-there’s no… Mr. Pricely, _please_.” 

_Again with the name._

Unable to keep his expression from shifting past disappointment to something a little softer, something gentler, Frank shifted how he was holding the box and sighed lowly. “...Lex…” He started, a warning undertone in his words causing the teen to stiffen, “If I see so much as a _sneeze_ toward this shelf—”

 _What_ used _to be a shelf—_

“You won’t!” She quickly interjected. “Y-You won’t, promise— cross my heart, hope to die, all of it— you won’t. You can fire me if you do. I just…” Exhaling out a noise between a sigh and a laugh, Lex brought her fingers back to her side and tapped on her leg. “I just got mad and kinda shouted at nothing,” she finally explained, “but that was after, so… god, I probably look like a fucking freak on the tape, b-but I swear, that was it. The kicking and the… y’know, yelling or whatever.”

For a second, she looked almost vulnerable. 

That second was all it took for Frank’s glare to fade entirely. 

_...she wouldn’t look like that if she’d actually done it._

Or if she _had_ done it, she was a damn good liar— or maybe a bad one, if she’d gone and pointed out the camera, unless she was bluffing… 

No. 

One look at her eyes proved it. 

Damn it. 

She hadn’t done it.

Although he wasn’t sure where exactly in his head the thought had come from— that thing in the back of his mind twinging slightly— he knew right away that it was true. For all the things she was— unpredictable, snarky, reserved— she was _also_ pretty damn honest when it came right down to it, at least, as far as he knew… 

She was a lot of things, but she wouldn’t lie about this— she wouldn’t be _able_ to, not with this much sincerity. 

When he spoke, his words were slow. “I... can’t fire you for shouting, Alexandra,” he finally murmured. “I’d probably shout at a freak accident, too. But if I see you do _one_ thing, you’re out. Understood?”

Lex nodded, complete and utter relief flooding across her face— the tension in her shoulders draining, her arms falling to her sides— and although it was faint… a small, apologetic smile spread on her face. “Thanks, Frankie.”

For a moment, he almost smiled back, though he caught himself and gave a firm nod in return. “...for your sake, I hope I don’t see anything.” 

* * *

He didn’t see anything. 

Even though she’d _known_ he wouldn’t see shit thanks to the thing that knocked over the shelf being a _literal demon from hell or where the fuck ever_ , it was still stressful to have him looking down at her like that, all _condescending_ and _high and mighty_ like he was captain capitalist himself. 

There was sweat on her hands as she worked at sorting through the wrecked boxes, the slickness of her palms making it hard to keep a grip on the plastic casing. Frank, the generous man that he was, had tasked her with stacking all the undamaged boxes in a makeshift display to her right, putting the other shit that had _actually_ been damaged in a pile on her left. She’d made a bit of an effort to stack the boxes up at first, but once Frank had left? 

_Broken._

The neat stack had become more of a scattered pile. 

Tossing the box with a sharp, satisfying _bang_ , she was quick to pick up another, though not before pushing aside a chunk of what looked like it had been one of the topmost shelves— the one he’d slammed his claws into. 

She could only tell thanks to the set of clawmarks etched into it— five thin, wicked lines set in the piece of wood. 

_How hard did he push it?_

Fuck. She didn’t need to think about it. 

_Focus._

With a sharp blink, she turned her attention back to the halfway crushed boxes under the beam and pulled another one from the mess— this one holding together better than the others, though that… really wasn’t saying much. One of its sides had caved in, but although it was crumpled, none of the pieces inside had spilled out. 

_Not broken._

This one, she didn’t toss, instead, setting it on the somewhat crooked pile that was now up to her waist and still growing before turning her attention back to what was left of the shelf since Ethan had just… snapped, apparently. 

Another box. 

_Not broken._

She should’ve known he’d pull some shit like that. He’d been too nice on the walk over— not that he’d been _nice_ , but he’d been _close_ to it— she should’ve fucking known that he’d get her alone and nearly cost her an entire job. 

_Broken._

Thud.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she wiped her palms on her jeans. As much as she was trying not to think about him, it was sort of hard _not_ to, seeing as this whole thing was his fault. So what if she didn’t give him pity? He _was_ dead. Ethan Green had _died_ , and from what she remembered, he’d died in the mall— so what?

_Broken._

Thump.

If he couldn’t handle hearing it, that was his own fucking fault. He’d had a year to put it together, right?

Lex couldn’t claim to know how hell worked or anything like that— she _had_ been living through it for eighteen fucking years, sure, but _living_ hell was _probably_ different than whatever Ethan had gone through to make him look like _that_ — but she was _fairly_ certain that whatever it was, if it even was hell, it probably wasn’t… great. 

_Not broken._

Almost automatically, she slid the box onto the crooked stack. The whole thing wobbled under its weight, though she barely saw it.

 _Had_ she been too hard on him?

As much as she didn’t want to think that way, her mind kept flashing back to the way he’d _looked_. Not after when he’d shoved the shelf over, but how he’d looked when she’d pinned down the end of his tail and he’d whirled on her, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t exactly name. 

Fear wasn’t the right word, but she’d seen him turn a little paler.

Anger wasn’t the right word, but she’d seen his brows draw together and his lips curl back. 

_Broken._

Thud. 

Try as she might to keep his voice out of her head— he wasn’t even _there_ with her, fuck’s sake, he’d probably be back to torment her soon enough— she couldn’t keep his words from ringing through her mind, the raw tone in his voice enough to make her movements a little stiffer even though it was just a memory. 

_“Thanks for that, Alexandra, glad you understand how it feels to fucking die!”_

_Not broken._

She set it down a little more forcefully. 

_Fuck_ , was she feeling bad for him? She shouldn’t have been. He was the _entire_ reason she was stuck stacking boxes rather than working the counter like she _wanted_ to be doing, but for some reason, the fact that he was gone… that he’d been upset enough to storm off… 

_Broken._

Six boxes left. 

Moving quickly, Lex set it down before stepping back, taking the opportunity to glance at the aisles on either side of her. She’d gotten lucky— hell, if Ethan had managed to bowl the shelf into another one, god, she didn’t even want to _think_ about what Frank would’ve done to her. He probably wouldn’t have listened to her desperate ramble, though the fact that he’d even listened to _begin_ with was more than a little bit weird to think about. 

Not that she was going to think too hard about it.

Fuck, wasn’t there a saying? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth or some shit like that? It had never really made sense to her, thanks to Hatchetfield being fairly horse free, but from what she did understand, it was a saying she was _most_ likely following by keeping her head down and her thoughts to herself. 

She was good at that. 

She’d _learned_ how to be good at that. 

Taking another box in her hands, Lex carefully looked it over before setting it on the good pile, which was… less abundant than she would’ve hoped. 

Ugh. 

Stupid demon. 

Stupid demon who couldn’t keep his stupid hands to himself and leave her alone to just do her job. She’d taken a minute to herself in the back room with a cigarette while Frank was off fucking with the security camera, and when she _had_ done that, she’d found that Ethan had gone and switched around a bunch of stock in the shelves, that fucker, so her arms were _already_ sore going into stacking boxes and pushing aside pieces of broken shelving.

She slid another box on top of the not fucked pile. 

It was a slow day, thank god. She honestly didn’t know what she’d do if anyone came in, because so help her, she was ready to tear someone’s head off with her bare fucking hands if a person did so much as even _breathe_ in her direction and—

“Alexandra!” 

_Damn it._

In an instant, her slouchy posture straightened, fake, plastic, customer-service smile falling easily onto her face. “Morning, Sherman,” she greeted before turning, halfway hoping that whoever it was just had a strikingly similar voice to Hatchetfield’s best known perv, but…

There was no mistaking that stupid comb-over— _seriously_ , who did he think he was fooling?— or those coke-bottle glasses, along with a hideous blue pink and white striped windbreaker that he’d donned a month back in September and showed no signs of ditching, not that it’d do him much good. 

“What can I help you with today?”

_Please don’t do the stupid hand thing._

Sure enough, he did the stupid hand thing— not just rubbing his palms together, no, threading his fingers together and letting them slither and slide against each other like a housefly sitting on some unattended crumb. The dude practically _was_ a fly, with how invasive he was and how big his eyes looked thanks to his glasses that probably hadn’t been updated since the dark ages— hell, the dude had probably been _alive_ that long. 

Unlike a housefly.

Which lived about twenty-eight days before keeling over. 

A small part of her wished Sherman Young was in the same boat. 

If he _was_ , she wouldn’t have to see the old codger practically every day. 

Behind his glasses, those glossy eyes sparkled dimly as she forced herself to keep that too-tight smile on her face, a halfway crushed box still in her grip.

His hands didn’t stop moving as he spoke. “Oh, well, you know how I collect _ponies_ , yes?” He asked. 

Lex’s smile threatened to turn to a wince. “‘Course I do.”

_How could I ever forget when you’re in here to ask about stock every fucking week?_

If Sherman saw her discomfort, he didn’t acknowledge it. Giving a jerky nod and swiping his tongue over his lips— _gross_ — he clasped his hands in front of him. “Well, I’ve been looking for a mispaint, as you know, and was _wondering_ —”

Lex didn’t hear what he was wondering. 

Behind him, something caught her eye— something twitching down the aisle like a thin, black snake, skittering slightly across the checkered pattern. 

Lex’s heart dropped to her sneakers. 

_Shit._

It was only for a second— his tail was attached to him, which meant he was going down the aisle just to her left, _fuck_ , he’d been gone for… about an hour, maybe an hour and a half, doing _god_ knew what— setting up some elaborate scheme to ruin her life or end it, probably. Yeah, the contract forbid him from killing her outright, but what if he’d—

“—because I _know_ you get your shipments in on _Wednesday_ mornings, and today _is_ a Wednesday!” 

Sherman’s nasally voice made her stiffen, momentarily halting her thoughts as she struggled to process what he’d just said— realizing in a matter of seconds that she’d heard… pretty much zero of whatever weirdness about ponies he’d just spewed.

“I can check in the back?” Lex offered, croakily, unable to meet Sherman’s eyes for very long— _fuck, where is he?_ — her gaze tracking the small gap beneath the shelves and the floor on her left for any traces of Ethan. “I— I’m really not supposed to be doing anything other than sorting these— shelf collapsed this morning outta nowhere.”

Sherman made a displeased noise, somewhere between the sound of an irritated horse being denied an apple— again with her brain going to horses— and a small dog being nudged while half-asleep under the table. “I can see that,” he agreed, “but could you just step away for a moment? I’ll explain to Frank if that would be of assistance.”

Right.

Assistance.

What a way to put it. For some dude who wanted a bunch of fucked up plastic horses that he’d just… keep on his shelf or whatever— Lex was _fairly_ certain that the _assistance_ for him would be assisting in his arrest, or in getting him the help it looked like he needed.

Another flick of a tail under the shelf caught her attention, the pointed red tip darting in and out of her field of vision from a closer point than before. 

_...or keeping a demon from obliterating him where he stands._

Could he do that? 

She’d told him not to kill anyone, sure, but what if he’d spent that time he’d had alone finding a loophole? _Shit,_ she should’ve been more specific. There was probably a way he’d found to just end her entire life in the blink of an eye— maybe with another shelf, god, wouldn’t _that_ be poetic? 

Flick. 

The noise made her skin crawl. 

It wasn’t like the sound she’d expect a snake to make if it were loose in the store— not a soft, barely-there slithering, no— this was _heavier_. Purposeful, and accompanied by the sharp skittering of the point on his tail dragging across the ground, along with the sound of his footsteps. There wasn’t a shadow for her to follow, either— just the noise of him creeping steadily along doing god knew what—

Sherman took a step closer to her. “...Alexandra?” He asked, bug eyes flickering with something she would be tempted to call concern, were it not coupled with another swipe of his tongue across his lower lip. “Is everything—”

“Fine!” Lex replied, brightly— a little _too_ brightly. Her whole face felt like it was being pulled taut, thanks to the cheery smile she was forcing herself to keep in place— and the fact that she wanted to just pop the fuck _off_ on Ethan— _where the hell is he?_ — wasn’t exactly making things better in the fucking slightest. “But, Sherman, I really don’t think I should—”

“It’ll just take you a second.”

Skitter.

Lex’s shoulders drew upward. _Fuck_ . That one sounded like it was _right_ behind her— _shit, shit, that can’t be good—_ though she couldn’t turn around, not with Sherman doing those fly hands and with his eyes trained on her own the way they were. 

Her smile was threatening to falter more and more with each passing second. “I did stocking this morning,” she informed him, curtly, listening to the sounds of footsteps and a dragging tail on the other side of the shelf, “and I don’t recall seeing any, then. If you come in tomorrow, I can take a look around for mispaints today and have them ready by—”

_Thud._

Something in the next aisle fell— not with a crash, but with a dull thump that caused her to stop mid-sentence and turn to face it, like she’d be able to see through the neatly-arranged boxes and wooden shelving that was still, thankfully, standing. 

“—tomorrow,” she finished, slowly, forcing herself to look back down to Sherman. “If that works for you?” 

The fact that the toystore actually _had_ regular customers was downright ridiculous. They weren’t regular people or anything, but they were faces Lex had come to recognize pretty damn well— like the kid with the suspenders and bowtie that would come in looking at the models they had or rubix cubes, or the woman who always wore that _ridiculous_ black cape and hat that made her look like a Russian guard— they were people she’d seen around enough that she’d probably recognize them in a crowd, and Sherman Young was… unfortunately on that list. 

But as much as she was able to recognize him, she sure as hell couldn’t read him. 

Which was bullshit. 

Even now as he continued to wring his hands together in front of himself and opened his mouth to speak, his answer wasn’t one Lex would even be able to _guess_ at— though since the universe seemed to fucking hate her, she already knew, deep down, what words were going to leave his mouth.

“Well,” he drawled— the nasally voice he had making it sound almost like someone had stepped on his toes, “I _always_ come in on _Wednesdays_ , so I don’t think—”

_FWOOSH._

The shelf beside them wobbled. A gust of cold air shot from between the cracks next to the boxes, and this time, Sherman seemed to react to the noise— instantly stopping his words to step backward as a set of horns poked from the other side of the shelf— right near the top— and another sharp noise followed by a blast of air shot through the silence.

_Oh my fucking god._

Lex’s heart plummeted. 

It didn’t matter that Sherman didn’t seem to be able to see the demon where he was slowly coming into view— his beating wings flaring in and out of her view as more and more of him was made visible— _she_ could, and damn it, she sure as shit didn’t _want_ to. 

“Trouble with the AC,” she explained to Sherman as Ethan finally managed to hook an arm over the top of the shelf and glanced down at the pair of them, cocking his head before grinning like the cheshire cat—

_Don’t look at him._

—she turned away. “We’re getting it looked at.”

“Really?” Ethan cut in, once again, pumping his wings with enough force to make Lex’s hair blow against her neck, flapping loosely there as she practically melted through Sherman’s glasses with how harshly she was holding eye contact. 

_FWOOSH._

Another blast of cold air.

Lex crossed her arms in an attempt to hide the goosebumps rising on her skin— both from cold and from dread, from the fact that there was a _literal fucking demon_ trying to scale the shelf between them, the noise of his claws scratching up the wood enough to make her want to scream. 

_Don’t react._

“There’s nothing for you to worry about.” Keeping her reassuring tone in place, Lex rocked back and forth on her heels. “It _should_ be fixed by tomorrow.” 

Ethan snorted. “Tomorrow?” He echoed, the lack of his wings beating enough to make Lex think that he’d actually managed to perch on the shelf like some huge bird—

_Don’t react._

The shelf creaked under his weight.

_Don’t react._

The noise of his wings unfurling again sounded through the room.

_Don’t you fucking dare react._

Stepping a little closer to Sherman, she uncrossed an arm and gestured toward another aisle, the fingers of her other hand twitching damn near uncontrollably. “If you wanted to check our current stock, I’m sure you know where to find it, and if you check in tomorrow—”

“Why do you put up with this creep?”

“—I’ll be happy to help you out.” As much as she was trying her best to be friendly, her smile was starting to let her strain show through it, twitching lightly at the corners in a way that only worsened when Ethan spoke up. 

“I could get rid of him for you.” 

Sherman blinked. “...AC problems?” He echoed, albeit, a little late, stopping his palm rubbing to stick his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. “ _And_ an issue with shelving? Miss Foster, if I didn’t know better, I’d be tempted to say that this place is—”

“Haunted?” Lex finished, dryly. 

_If he only knew._

At her observation, he nodded. “ _Exactly_ . I wasn’t expecting a smart answer from _you—_ ”

_What the fuck does that mean?_

_Is this becaue of the way I look?_

_Or the fact that I’m a highscool dropout working here of all fucking places?_

Could _Sherman Young_ of all people be taking a dig at her?

Her brows drew together before she could even force herself to stop, neck moving in a stiff nod.

“—but that _is_ my working theory. Or cursed, maybe.” His hands were back to rubbing together. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Lex saw Ethan fold his wings. “I mean… he’s close? Though it’s _you_ who’s cursed, not this place— though that’d be pretty cool, if I could do that.” 

Lex could feel her smile faltering. “Maybe,” she agreed, “but look, Sherman, I really need to get back to work, so if you could just leave me to it— I can set aside a few boxes for you?” 

_Please._

_I’m literally fucking begging._

_Please, please, please._

How come Frank had gone and vetoed her idea of being able to cuss out certain customers? It would’ve been _so_ satisfying to just spit a few choice words— a couple of good _fuck yous_ — directly into his face, but instead, she was left with her jaw twitching and her smile turning more and more tense by the second. She was painfully aware of her own heart rate along with the sweat building on her hands, even as she wiped them along the sides of her vest. 

She pretended not to notice Sherman watching the movement despite how it made her feel exposed. 

_Creep._

“...well?” She prompted, weakly. 

“Well,” he responded, “between the two of us, Alexandra, I think you’re wasting yourself here at this store.”

Lex blinked. 

“Um—” she started, unsure as to where to take the sentence, her customer service tone faltering against her will as she tried to find words, though Sherman was already nodding and clicking his tongue thoughtfully.

“Plenty of other ways to make money in Hatchetfield,” he explained, licking his lips again in a way that made Lex’s stomach twist, “and _although_ it’s a little frowned upon… maybe you shouldn’t waste your youth here and should go spend it… _differently?_ ”

Lex’s mouth opened and closed once. Twice. Three times. 

There weren’t enough words in the world to describe the utter disgust that flashed through the back of her mind. 

_What the fuck?_

Had he just—

Had Sherman young _really_ just gone and suggested she become… what, a prostitute? At eighteen? Sure, she _could_ — but she wasn’t _that_ desperate that she was just going to go off and sell herself— no shade to sex workers, not in her mind, but _fuck_ , that wasn’t something you could just _say_ to someone?

Sherman must not have gotten the memo. 

He looked dead serious. 

“I—” she started, breaking into an awkward laugh, an embarrassed, almost ashamed tinge of red starting to creep across her face, “—I d-don’t really understand what you—

_Clunk._

A box toppled from the topmost shelf, and when Lex jumped— whipping her head around to glare up at Ethan— sure e-fucking-nough, his hand was extended in the tail end of a hit, his slit pupils fixed on the magic trick box he’d pushed over. “Oops,” he remarked in a tone of voice that made it _more_ than clear that it was on purpose, though before she’d even had time to process _that—_

He pounced. 

Not on her, though.

Wings flared open to their fullest extent, Ethan landed heavily behind Sherman where he stood, a loud, heavy _thud_ accompanying the action. 

He practically _filled_ the aisle from wall to wall. 

Since when was he allowed to be so fucking _tall_?

He was only a year older than her, though from where he was behind Sherman, she could see his head and shoulders _above_ those of the older man, alongside his wings— stretched on either side in a way that made him look so, _so_ much bigger than he had when he was standing in her cramped kitchen or asleep on the sofa.

The second Sherman’s back turned to her, she shot him a wide-eyed glare. 

‘ _What the fuck?’_ She mouthed, though when she did—

His wings folded shut with a sharp snap— the force of the movement sending a gust of wind through the aisle that ruffled Sherman’s windbreaker and caused her hair to whip back, and over the noise of her heart beating out of her chest, she could’ve _sworn_ she heard a low, animal _growl_. 

_Was that from Ethan?_

Between the snarl painting his features and his fighting stance, she was going to go with _yes_ — though that didn’t make any sense, unless he was… defending her?

No. 

He wouldn’t do that. 

Though as Lex looked up at him where he was growling— the noise not faltering in the _slightest_ when their eyes met— she couldn’t help but think that he… might’ve been. 

Sherman didn’t see it. 

He _did_ , however, react to the wind— stumbling back from it as though it had actually pushed him— gaze flicking from the floor where Lex assumed the box was behind Ethan to where he must’ve assumed the demon’s face was. 

“M-Must…” He started, shakily, back to doing his fly-hands, though at a quicker speed than usual— borderline clapping. “M-Must be the AC acting up.”

When he looked to Lex for confirmation, the most she could manage was a jerky shrug. 

Her face was still burning. Her words were still stuck in her throat, trapped there even as Sherman pulled his eyes away from her and started to walk— stepping _through_ Ethan on his way, though the demon didn’t flinch. 

“I— I should be going,” he stammered, “there’s ah… not that m-many hours in a day, you know.”

Lex nodded. 

It was all she could bring herself to do. 

“Bye,” she breathed out, though she couldn’t tell if Sherman heard it, thanks to Ethan standing between her and the older man. 

For a few moments, silence fell upon them. 

It had all happened so fast. 

Lex’s mind was churning, panicked thoughts leaping over each other in a frenzy— she’d dealt with creeps before, so as much as that still made her feel about two inches tall, it wasn’t anything new— but _Ethan_ —

He broke the silence with a sharp cough, and like that, his eyes were on her. 

His pupils were barely visible. 

When he spoke, he lowered his head and curled his tail against one of his legs. “...sorry about the shelf,” he mumbled. “I uh— I mean, it ain’t my business to really… fuck, I dunno, _check in_ on you or whatever, but—”

“It’s fine,” Lex interrupted, “I mean… fuck, hey, next time, maybe _don’t_ be super dramatic and fling yourself over a shelf to get over here but… whatever, I guess. Part of your method?” Her hands shook slightly. Even as she set down the box she’d been holding on the broken pile, they refused to stop quivering. 

_Fuck._

If Ethan saw it, he didn’t say a word. Instead, he broke into an awkward chuckle and scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, had to make a dramatic entrance. And it _totally_ paid off-- ya should’ve seen the look on his face.” Flashing her a grin comprised of too many teeth to be entirely normal, he rolled his shoulders and stuck his hands into his pockets. 

Lex managed a shaky smile in response. “Yeah, I… kinda wish I had, to be honest. _Fuck_. He’s a total creep.”

Watching Ethan closely as he strode a little closer and leaned up against the shelf still standing next to him, she couldn’t help but notice a little bit of… concern on his face, though it was gone in the blink of an eye. “I got that, yeah,” he growled, huffing under his breath as he did. “Fucking gross. Totally would’ve offed him if you didn’t have me on a fucking leash.”

“Right,” Lex agreed, reaching somewhat robotically for another box, “because that wouldn’t look suspicious at _all_. That’d probably put me in the damn occupation he suggested, trying to make ends meet or whatever.” 

_Not broken._

She set it down with a little too much force. She could feel Ethan’s eyes on her as she moved to pick up another box, the silence in the air allowing her to focus on the sound of her heartbeat slowing back down to an almost normal rate. 

Against the wall, Ethan shifted. “...I’ll leave ya be, then,” he murmured, somewhat awkwardly, at which Lex shot him a cautionary glance and halfway pointed at him. 

“Don’t knock anything else over,” she instructed, only getting a sharp laugh in response. 

“Oh, well, now I _have_ to.”

“I’m serious-- gonna put my fucking back out doing all this lifting. Just…” Trailing off, ignoring the stupid, shit-eating grin he was wearing, Lex looked up at him and sighed. “ _Behave_ , okay?”

His hand raised in a mock salute. “Oh, will do,” he promised, snickering softly as he did. 

He didn’t knock anything else over for the rest of her shift.

Not where she could see, anyway. 

Frank _did_ seem a little more jumpy than usual when she clocked out, but in all honesty? She really, _really_ couldn’t care less. 

After all, if he was staying in his lane, the _least_ she could do was stay in hers. 


	16. even now (it's a dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i heard yaul like paul

Out of all the things Paul Matthews thought he would spend his Wednesday doing, losing repeatedly at drawing competitions to Hannah Foster wasn’t one of them.

Wednesdays for Paul were _normally_ pretty boring. 

_Normally_ , he’d wake up at six to walk to work, slog through a couple of papers that his boss would have his head for if he didn’t at least _start_ , make smalltalk by the water cooler for as long as he could stand— that all depended on how long Ted decided to stick around, and even then, there were only so many questions about the weather and his love life that he could take— and then he’d dart off to Beanies the _second_ he was let loose on lunch break, sometimes a little bit before. 

Then, he’d make the trek toward Beanies, passing by Starbucks on his way, to go and order his _normal_ drink— a black coffee, which was normally cold by the time he got back, thanks to Hatchetfield weather being atrocious. He’d hang around in the shop for a few minutes, shoot Emma a dopey grin whenever they made eye-contact, turn red when she tossed a flirty remark his way, then trudge back, trade elevator conversations with Bill, sit at his desk, and _beg_ for five o clock to hit so he could go back to Beanies _again_ to talk to the _same_ Emma Perkins, and if he was lucky, she’d drive him home. 

Those conversations in her tiny blue car had always been some of his favorites. 

Sometimes, they were just tired— the pair of them would exist together with Dan and Donna from the radio show filling the dead air between them— and that was fine, but other times, they’d be _just_ about awake enough to talk. 

_“Y’know, Paul, I don’t get why you walk all the way down here to get a ride if you work on like, the opposite end of town,” Emma had chided, turning to him as she stopped at a red light. “I mean, fuck, it’s not far so I don’t mind driving you, but it’s sorta weird, isn’t it?”_

_He’d blinked. It had been slow._

_“Weird?” He’d echoed, fiddling with the seatbelt, at which Emma nodded._

_Her fingers had tapped lightly at the steering wheel, matching the time of the song that had played over the busted speakers. “Yeah, like…” Lifting one of her hands off the wheel, she’d given a small sigh and a flick of her wrist toward the left side of the car, followed by a jerk to the right. “You’re over at CCRP, and I’m at Beanies, and then you just… backtrack._

_Paul remembered frowning, then. He remembered how the street had looked shiny, almost like it had been part of another world— slightly damp with the reflections of traffic lights glimmering on the concrete. “Is there… something wrong with—”_

_“No!” Emma was quick to interrupt. “I just… I mean, you do that every day— walk in the wrong direction because…”_

_He’d shrugged at that._

_“I like to see you. I don’t mind walking in the wrong direction— I mean, it can’t be_ that _wrong if it means you drive me home at the end of the day. I like seeing you.”_

_When he’d looked at Emma, there had been a soft blush on her face— one that he might’ve mistaken for the stoplight had they not already driven past them._

_“Dork.”_

_“What? I’m serious.”_

_A beat of silence had passed between them, broken only by the sound of the car’s engine puttering away, though…_

_With a sharp inhale, Paul broke it, drumming his fingers lightly on his lap._

_“...maybe one day it_ won’t _be the wrong direction.” He’d murmured, face suddenly feeling a little hotter than it had moments ago— though Emma’s blush only deepened at his words._

They’d looked at apartments the next morning. Most of them had been too small, or too big, or too… _something_ — usually too expensive, but… it had been nice, just to sit next to her in his studio apartment, bag of microwave popcorn between them, with him on his laptop and her scrolling through her phone in search of listings. 

Work had left her tired that day.

She’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. 

That had been a good example of a normal day. 

Nothing too crazy, nothing unexpected, nothing too awful to deal with. 

And no crippling losses against the art whiz known as Hannah Foster. 

“...y’know, I told you to draw a _cat_ , Paul,” Emma’s voice broke through his thoughts with a teasing lilt, close enough to his ear that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Not… a sad little… blob.”

Across from him, Hannah giggled. 

Paul’s brow furrowed in concentration— and although, _most_ of that concentration was focused on keeping the pencil from slipping through his fingers and onto the floor, a good portion of it was being used in remembering what a cat looked like. A proper one. They weren’t very complicated animals from what he could remember, but to be fair, _most_ of the animals he’d attempted drawing in the last hour weren’t ones he’d found complicated at a first glance. 

A rabbit?

A tiger?

A duck?

They should’ve been simple. 

They _would’ve_ been, if the pencil would cooperate with his fingers, and his fingers would cooperate with the rest of his hand, and if his hand had cooperated with his brain… maybe he would’ve ended up with something that _hadn’t_ looked like a glorified amoeba with little toothpick legs— though his duck hadn’t been half bad as far as he was concerned. 

Sighing, Paul bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling when he met Emma’s challenging glare, forcing himself to glance back down at his paper. “It’s a _cat_ , Em,” he corrected, “just… a fat one.” 

The orange pencilcrayon he’d chosen was working just _fine_. 

Lifting it from the paper, he flipped it around in his grip and tapped the dull end against the blob— the _cat_ , the _fantastic cat_ — that he’d drawn. “See?”

Emma raised her eyebrows in response. 

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly. 

“...no?”

Again, Hannah muffled a small giggle with the back of her hand. 

Paul clamped down a little harder on the inside of his cheek. “You’re just not looking at it right,” he insisted, “see, look, there are the legs, right there!” Tapping the pencil’s dull end a few times against four small, straight lines coming out of the cat’s circular body, he looked expectantly up to Emma. 

When she spoke up, her voice quivered slightly. “...okay.” 

Paul nodded in response. “Okay! Great— and see, there’s the tail, and its ears—”

A laugh cut him off. “Why are they _floppy_ ?” She managed to wheeze out, containing the noise at the cost of her pitch— voice shooting upward in incredulity at the end of her sentence. “Paul, it’s a _cat_ , they’re supposed to be—”

“Triangles,” Hannah finished for her, flipping her own paper around with a small flourish to show off a small black cat with brilliant green eyes. “See?” One of her fingers shifted downward, tapping against one of the drawing’s ears. 

Behind him, Emma snorted. 

Paul’s gaze trailed back down to his own cat. 

“Mine’s… a rare breed?” He tried, carefully bringing the pencil back to the paper to try mimicking how Hannah had drawn the eyes on hers— rounded irises with thin, slit pupils— though when he _did_ , the pencil picked that _exact_ moment to skitter out of his grip. 

_Through_ his grip, if he wanted to get technical. 

Even though he’d been dead for a good amount of time, there was still something disorienting about feeling something— but not really _feeling_ it— slip through his fingers and onto the table, because he _knew_ he hadn’t dropped it, but… there it was. 

The ends of his fingers pressed together. 

Even though she was trying her best, he could still hear Emma’s badly muffled snickers as the orange pencilcrayon rolled to rest against the stuffed spider— _Webby_ — sitting neatly next to Hannah, who looked… almost thoughtful. 

“...help?” She asked, picking up the pencilcrayon and cocking her head. “I can show you, if you want.” 

This time, Paul couldn’t keep a small laugh in. “I… gosh, I dunno, Hannah, I’m not sure that’s the best idea… you’ve _seen_ my other stuff, it’s—”

“Not bad!” Not giving him time to finish, sitting up a little straighter, she carefully reached for the small stack of paper at Paul’s side, the white pages covered in doodles of various creatures. Her gaze skirted over them all thoughtfully, the small army of beady, poorly-drawn black eyes returning her stare. 

Emma drifted a little closer to Paul. 

Neither of them said a word, though in the quiet, her hand brushed against his shoulder, squeezing lightly in a way that could easily have been part of a silent conversation. There were about a million different things that same motion had meant in the past, but as Paul directed his attention to her and took in that halfway smirk on her face, there was only one meaning that made proper sense. 

_You tried._

A laugh threatened to bubble up from his throat, though from the look on her face— eyes crinkled at the corners and nose scrunched up— he was fairly certain he wasn’t the only one biting back the noise with everything he had in him even as Hannah set down the drawings and sighed.

“Watch,” she instructed, standing up and moving to his side of the small table, tilting the paper with his poor deformed cat so the pair of them were both looking at it from roughly the same angle. 

“I’m watching,” Paul promised.

Hannah smiled in response. 

Even though his heart didn’t beat anymore, when Hannah shot him that nervous, soft grin, he felt it warm in his chest. 

She hadn’t smiled much all day. The girl had seemed _tense_ in a way that was hard to describe, not quite scared, but certainly not at ease, and Paul couldn’t really blame her. After all, he big sister was out at work with a _demon._

Her shoulders had stayed stiff for a good hour after Lex had left the house, and even after Paul and Emma had cleared off the table, dumping the Ouija board in a corner next to Lex’s bed, she’d barely spoken a word to either of them all day. The spider plushie that sat next to her at the table had been clasped in her arms for _hours_ on end, gripped tightly as she mumbled under her breath and shook lightly— refusing to say a _word_ to Emma, and even Paul had needed a good half hour to coax anything out of her, though when he _had_ , according to Hannah, the words had come from Webby.

Words like _crash_ , and _panic_ , _still there,_ and _alone_ had torn from her in a shaky, whimpering voice that barely rose above a whisper, her shaking worsening to a point where it had looked like she was vibrating in place— all of them nonsensical to Paul save for one that she barely dared say.

_Him._

The tone she’d used alone had filled him with a heavy dread, and the look on her face had only made it worse, a look of pale-faced _terror_ that had made his insides all twist into a knot. 

It was a stark contrast to how she was now, tongue poking out of her lips just slightly as she worked the pencil across the paper next to Paul’s blobby creature, lightly sketching out a couple of loose circles. 

“Body,” she explained, using the orange that he had to make her blob look less like an oval and more like the body of an _actual_ feline, two high shoulders bracing the front and a long, curling tail snaking out from its rear end. The orange pencilcrayon looked like it was made to fit in her hand as she worked to give Paul’s sad creation a little friend. 

_Can all thirteen-year-olds draw like that?_

Hannah certainly wasn’t all thirteen-year-olds— not by a long shot— so he already knew that the answer would be a _no_ . After all, he’d seen some of her other artwork, and it certainly beat out everyone at CCRP in terms of execution and practice, save for _maybe_ Melissa, and even that would be cutting it close. 

The pencilcrayon moved a little closer to him, and by extension, so did Hannah— that faint, _living_ warmth she provided making his side tingle. “Legs.” 

The end of the pencil tapped twice at the bottom of the cat where four slender legs seemed to materialize— the feline in question gazing almost critically at his sad creation, twin, triangular ears pricked upward in what could be intrigue, or pity.

“And ears!” She added after a slight pause, moving the pencil back to the creature’s head, adding a small amount of thin, wispy lines that Paul recognized as fur bedecking its cheeks, along with—

“Hey, I remembered to do those on mine!” He interrupted, sitting up a little straighter. “Whiskers!” 

Hannah nodded enthusiastically. “Yes!”

Emma broke into a laugh, hand shifting to pat his back reassuringly. “Maybe you’re an artist, after all, Paul. It’s just a hidden talent.” Grinning, she leaned into his field of view, tilting her head in a way that made her loose hair fall slightly over her eyes. “Y’know, hidden under that Amoeba with a moustache hiding your cat.”

Paul rolled his eyes, though when Hannah gave a gentle laugh, he couldn’t help but do the same— the noise intermingling with the two girls’ own giggling. 

“I’ve seen worse moustaches,” he defended, opening his mouth to continue the sentence and give out his personal opinion on Hatchetfield’s worst moustache, but—

“Ted?” Emma supplied.

From the look on his face alone, it must’ve given his answer away— the way his brows drew together and his lips twitched— sending Emma into another bout of laughter.

It was a pretty sound. 

One he’d missed. 

They’d laughed plenty in this house before they’d died, and even _after_ , but for some reason, with Hannah’s voice joining theirs, the noise rang sweeter in his ears, and even after it had faded a little, the smile that made Paul’s eyes lift still remained, even Emma gave a mock hum of consideration. 

“Well,” she started, “as the _judge_ of this little competition…” Trailing off and tapping one finger on her chin, gaze darting from Hannah’s two picturesque cats to Paul’s… _attempt_ , she shot him a sympathetic grin. “I’m gonna have to say the best cat drawing goes to our _reigning_ champ, Hannah Foster. 

It was a well earned victory.

Humming in agreement, Paul bobbed his head. “Once again, I’m not upset about it. There’s definitely an artist at this table— and I don’t think it’s Emma or—”

“Hey!” 

His eyebrows shot up at Emma’s interruption. 

With a challenging lift of his chin, Paul pulled his hands back to sit on his lap. “What?” He asked, struggling to keep a straight face when he met Emma’s eyes. “Have you been holding out on us, Perkins?” 

Emma scoffed in response. “Alright, shove over.” 

She didn’t give him a chance to shift away. Instead, her hands found his shoulder and lightly pushed at him, causing him to scoot sideways on his chair, though he didn’t mind. 

Holding her hand out in front of Hannah, Emma wiggled her fingers. “Pencil,” she prompted. 

Hannah giggled softly before handing over the orange crayon— though it fell right through Emma’s outstretched hand to roll across the table, stopping just beside Paul’s arm. 

“Ah, _fuck_ —”

“Language,” Paul reprimanded, at which Emma narrowed her eyes and scoffed. 

“Oh, c’mon, she’s heard worse,” she defended, reaching across Paul to properly grab up the pencil in her fingers. “Right, Hannah?”

Hannah’s head bobbed in a nod. There was still a smile on her face, and it only widened when Emma made a triumphant noise in the back of her throat and jabbed Paul in the ribs, grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“ _See?_ It’s fine. Now, watch and weep, Matthews.” With a dramatic flourish, she spun the pencil in her fingers and pressed the brightly coloured tip against the paper, quickly sketching out a circle that she adorned with a pair of ears. 

Not that Paul saw much of it.

He was too busy watching the way her nose wrinkled when she smiled. He was too concentrated on the slight divot in her brow and the fact that her tongue stuck slightly out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Even though she was smirking, the teasing expression did nothing to get rid of the soft glint in her eyes— one that made Paul’s unbeating heart lift. 

One that made him shift one of his hands to his pocket, feeling the hard plastic of a box there. 

His stomach twisted. 

Something in his expression changed. He was lucky Emma was too focused on the undoubtedly better cat she was bringing to life on the paper next to him to see it, but he couldn’t keep his expression from falling just a smidge. 

It was kind of funny, really, that on the _day_ he’d decided to ask Emma to share the rest of her life with him, both their lives had _ended_ . Technically, she _had_ spent the rest of her life with him. They’d lived, they’d died— he hadn’t exactly planned on asking her to spend her _afterlife_ with him, but with another look at that knowing smirk—

Her hand lightly batted his shoulder. “Hey, pay attention, you might learn something,” she prompted.

Their eyes met. 

Emma huffed at him. 

Moving slowly, she rapped the end of the pencil against the paper. “Paul, the _cat.”_

Paul’s face heated up in a blush. 

_Right._

_The cat._

That was the whole reason Emma had moved so close to begin with. Nodding, Paul directed his attention to the paper, taking a moment to spot what Emma had sketched out next to the blob, the cat that looked ready to spring to life, and—

_Oh._

His lips twitched. 

“I didn’t know you were an artist, Em,” he murmured, at which Emma gave a modest shrug. “I… really love the erm… the…”

When his voice started to wobble, he tried his best to stifle it with a cough. 

Emma raised her eyebrows. “The…”

Paul broke. 

Unable to hold back a laugh— a real, heavy laugh— he tilted his chair back and felt his back phase through it, not that he cared. He barely even noticed it. Hannah laughed along with him— shaking her head as she did. 

“Not a cat!”

“Hey, can’t you read?” Floating above the table, using a foot to tap on the paper, the toe of her shoe connecting with a large, orange circle labeled in block letters. Four little legs hung out from beneath it, along with a somewhat crooked tail and a head that looked a little lopsided, the little creature’s ears pinned back and its black nose scrunched up in displeasure. 

Probably because somebody had stamped it with the word **CAT**. 

“I can!” Hannah responded through a gale of laughter, “but Paul’s is better—”

“How long have _you_ been judging?” She interrupted before clearing her throat and drifting back to her side of the table. “Look. _As_ the _judge_ of this competition, I _hereby_ declare _myself_ to have the best cat drawing skills in this house.” 

Paul’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. It was hard to keep his laughter down, and Emma only made it harder by shooting him a challenging glare, silently daring him to speak up. 

Which he did.

“I think you’re _really_ overlooking Hannah’s art, here,” he inputted, at which Hannah sat up a little straighter. 

“ _And_ Paul’s,” she added, though Emma was quick to wave her off.

“ _I_ judge this competition— you can take a loss, and Paul’s used to it by now.” As she spoke, her hand moved to touch his from her side of the table, squeezing his wrist lightly. The look in her eyes made him more than aware of the fact that it was just gentle teasing on her part. 

He squeezed back.

When he shifted his weight, the box in his pocket jabbed against his side, though he ignored it, instead choosing to shoot her a playful scowl. 

“You’re just _jealous_ ,” he informed her, earning another laugh from Hannah. 

Under the table, her legs were swinging back and forth, one striped sock lightly tapping against the rickety thing’s support with every sway, though without any warning, her entire expression changed. 

The movement stopped. 

When she spoke up, her voice was in that dangerously quiet tone that Paul had come to recognize. Her hands moved stiffly, grabbing hold of the plush spider and bringing it close against herself, squeezing it.

_That’s not good._

“Home,” she mumbled. 

Her eyes were trained on the drawing on the table, though Paul knew deep down that she wasn’t seeing it— off in her own little world as she sat there, fingers digging into the fur of the stuffed spider. The eight legs of the toy wobbled a little. 

_She’s shaking._

“Coming. Didn’t forget. Big crash. Panic, but…”

Her forehead scrunched up a little in concentration. Her shaking… stopped. She was still sitting tensely, still bordering on the edge of some sort of episode— the tone in her voice making Paul painfully aware of _just_ how close she was— but when she spoke again, there was an undertone of relief woven through her words. 

“...okay.” 

Paul didn’t get to ask her what she meant by that before the sound of footsteps on the porch sounded, keys turned in the lock, and the front door swung open.

* * *

Lex made it about three steps into the house before Hannah threw herself at her older sister. 

It wasn’t something she would’ve been able to hold back if she’d tried. It was practically automatic— something that forced her to her feet and caused her to leave her stuffed spider on the table where it watched with eight unblinking eyes— and when she buried her face in Lex’s hoodie and squeezed her tightly, she barely heard Lex let out a soft ‘oof’ from the impact. 

Even though Lex wobbled in place, Hannah only clung to her tighter as the older girl caught her balance, quick in returning the embrace, albeit, only with one arm, thanks to the bag slung loosely around her other one. 

“Hannah? Hey, is everything okay?” There was confusion in her voice, the soft kind— the kind that would melt into reassurances if there was ever something _really_ wrong, though now that she was back, Hannah knew there wasn’t anything wrong.

Not anymore.

Lex was back, and she was fine, and she was all in one piece. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t bleeding. She didn’t have broken limbs. She was standing there, holding her close against her hoodie that smelled lightly of cigarette smoke, and as Hannah held her tighter, she could feel Lex gently guiding her further into the house. 

She didn’t resist. 

The two girls moved in tandem, the three other spectators staying silent as Lex gently ran her fingers through Hannah’s bangs and let her hand settle between her shoulders. 

“Is something wrong?” She asked, softly, “is— did mom come back?”

Hannah shook her head against Lex’s sweater. Even as Lex kicked off her shoes and carefully moved Hannah backward— around the shapes of Paul and Emma and the kitchen table. Hannah didn’t need to open her eyes to know where they were. Alongside Lex’s steady presence, the tiles under her socks kept her grounded. 

Kept her breathing.

Kept her from trembling. 

After all, Lex was okay. 

**I told you she would be.**

Although the presence of Webby made her head twinge— the spider’s presence a little much for her already crowded mind to handle— Hannah managed another nod. 

_I know._

“Safe,” she mumbled into the fabric. Lex’s hand on her back helped soothe her, causing that fear— that uncertainty that had plagued her for the past few hours— to disappear with a soft exhale. “Webby said so,” she added after a moment of silence, “but I worried anyway.” 

_Sorry._

There wasn’t an answer, though from the sensation of the small pressure in the back of her head fading, she knew Webby had heard her. 

A cough from behind Lex caused her defenses to rise instantaneously.

“Damn, did you worry about me?” Came a low drawl of a voice, and when Hannah looked up despite not wanting to, her eyes met a steely blue pair just past Lex’s shoulder. 

A steely blue pair of eyes and a set of too-sharp teeth. 

When he stepped through the door, ducking to make sure his horns didn’t clip on the doorframe, Hannah took a shaky step away from him. 

Followed by another. 

Although it made her step away from Lex, which wasn’t good, it _also_ put distance between her and _him_. 

Even though he was behind Lex and had his hands in his pockets, there was something about the way he smiled that made Hannah’s heart rate pick up in her chest, and certainly not in a good way. His eyes were cold. Calculating. Even though there was a grin on his face, his eyes were predatory as they focused on her and he pulled his hands from his pockets, opening his arms with a slight smirk. 

In her head, something twinged. 

“What, no hug over here?” He prompted. 

**Not yet.**

Slowly, Hannah shook her head.

Ethan’s tail flicked. His smirk stayed in place as he regarded her, though when he looked away from her, the faux-cheer dropped instantaneously. His expression fell. “No words, either, huh?” 

“That’s rich coming from _you_ ,” Lex informed him, reaching past Paul to set down her bag, the white plastic falling just enough to let Hannah see the small box inside it. 

_Bulbs._

That would be nice.

The day had lightened up enough that it didn’t really matter. After all, she could still see the four other occupants of the room. Paul and Emma were hovering at their end of the table, across from Lex, who was standing, glaring at the fourth presence that leaned casually against the door, bumping it closed with his hip. 

One of his clawed hands raised. “Hey, I _was_ quiet,” he defended, bouncing a little in place. “I mean, _started_ the day with a _bang_ , but… y’know.”

There was a weird emphasis he put on the word _bang_ , one that left the syllable harsh on his lips. His eyes widened just a smidge when he said it as well, his whole body leaning into it.

Lex paid him no mind. “Yeah,” she agreed, eyes tracking him as he brushed past her toward the living room, “let’s keep it that way.”

“Oh, _ouch_ ,” he mumbled, turning to shoot her a look of mock offense over his shoulder. “I thought I was bein’ _nice.”_

When his eyes flitted over Hannah, her insides seized up. Her spine straightened out. It was only for a second that those slit pupils focused on her, but it was long enough for Webby to push at the back of her mind and make her put a hand on the side of her head. 

A snicker pulled from his throat. 

An image stirred there, one she’d seen a few times through the day, one that had made her pull away from Paul and Emma as though they were going to lunge for her. 

**Not okay.**

In a small voice, she spoke up. “...car?” She asked, forcing herself to look Ethan in the eye. 

His expression changed. 

One of his hands slipped just slightly to rest on his forearm. The leather of his jacket bunched up slightly under his hand, and as she watched, his claws dug a little further into it than they should’ve. He wasn’t looking at it, either. 

No, those piercing, cold eyes were fixed on _her._

His tail flicked back and forth. 

Even though she could feel a cold presence on her back from the pair of ghosts moving closer and could see Lex standing next to the door, they seemed far away. 

Her mind churned.

Her headache worsened exponentially as Ethan took a slow, menacing step closer to her, wings flaring out on his back in a way that made her more than a little bit aware of the fact that he _towered_ over her. 

His tone of voice didn’t match his words. “What?” He questioned, the soft undertone enough to make Hannah know it was supposed to be threatening. 

The way it wavered at the end of the word _also_ let her know that it wasn’t working. 

Standing as straight as she was able, Hannah looked into his eyes. “...panic,” she told him, slowly, scanning his face closely for any changes— changes that came in the form of his jaw twitching and his pupils narrowing to a point where they were barely visible in the silvery-blue hue of his irises. 

His shoulders tensed. 

For a moment, Hannah thought he was going to pounce. 

Her heart was racing— she felt like a mouse cowering in front of a hungry, enormous cat, nowhere to run, no chance at escape, and as she breathed in, her lungs felt far too small to hold any oxygen. His tail was flicking rhythmically. His wings were open enough to block out the light coming in through the front window, practically a pair of huge, red-tinted curtains. His lips pulled back. 

She broke eye contact to glance at his wicked teeth. 

_He’s going to—_

**He’s not.**

He didn’t. 

His wings closed. 

A dark chuckle pulled from his throat. His claws were still dug deep into the sleeve of his jacket as he took a slow step backward, but when he _did_ , Hannah felt like she could breathe again. 

“Don’t know where you got that bullshit from,” he finally grumbled, turning his back on her entirely, “but no— only cars I saw today were on the street. All _I_ did was knock over a shelf.”

With that, he puffed out his chest a little and sauntered into the living room, slumping down into a seated position on the couch, leaving a stunned sort of silence in his wake before Emma broke it with two words. 

“You _what?”_

The rest of the conversation wasn’t something Hannah heard.

Instead, she carefully moved to sit at the table and looked down at the three cats on the piece of paper in front of her, and hummed softly. 

_He’s like a cat._

It wasn’t exactly a thought that made too much sense, but Hannah couldn’t help it. 

_Just a confused, big cat._

Maybe a panther. 

A panther in a leather jacket, with big scary teeth and wings. 

A panther that, for whatever reason, hadn’t pounced on whatever was put before it. 

She didn’t know _much_ about panthers. They weren’t as interesting as spiders, and in her mind, didn’t deserve the same amount of research, but they’d been in some of the books that she’d thumbed through about other animals, and she knew a little. They were smart. They were heavy, too, pretty much all their weight coming from muscle, they had powerful claws and strong jaws, and above all, they were patient creatures. They’d wait for their chance if they needed to.

_...is that what he’s doing?_

Looking up slightly, catching sight of the backs of the two ghosts and the demon she could slightly see through their translucent shapes, Hannah shifted slightly. 

Even though he was sitting, he still seemed larger than life. Like a predator, displaced from whatever jungle he was supposed to be in and confined to a suburban living room, and now, he was a predator who’d work with whatever he had, waiting for his moment to strike. 

**He won’t.**

Webby insisted in her head. 

Hannah averted her eyes and bit her lip. 

Again, a series of images rolled through her head, images from Webby that she’d been shown earlier. A black car. Blurry vision. A pair of eyes caught in a rearview mirror, a little too damp and wide to belong to someone who was okay— they were all pictures she’d seen before, though this time, there was a feeling with them, a feeling of cold dread and clammy hands, of sweat and shaking, a feeling that felt like fingers closing around her windpipe—

**Breathe.**

She obeyed. 

It was fine. 

She was sitting at the kitchen table. 

She was okay. 

Her shoulders shuddered a little, but she managed to get a slow, shaky breath in.

Her heart was racing. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, her skin was crawling on her back, prickling like the legs of a thousand spiders. Under her flannel, she was sweating. 

**He won’t do anything** , Webby promised. **Be careful.**

Somehow, the fact that there was still a caution tossed her way didn’t help her nerves. 

If anything, Webby’s words only made her pulse quicken. Even though she was being reassured, it didn’t change what he was. It didn’t change the fact that he was dangerous. It didn’t change the fact that when he spoke, his words held a growl and made both Fosters stiffen. 

He was a predator, plain and simple. 

And that made her and Lex potential prey. 

**Hannah. He won’t do anything.**

_Are you sure?_

No response. 

Although she hated herself for it… she wasn’t surprised. After all, a panther could never be a housecat. And Ethan Green, as far as she was concerned, could never be friendly. 

**Not yet.**

This time, it was Hannah who didn’t respond to the spider in her head. 


	17. on the roof

Holding hands with Ethan Green sucked, actually. 

Even though she’d agreed to do it, even though she’d  _ literally _ told him it was fine, she couldn’t help but think it would’ve been better if he’d  _ said _ something instead of just trying to grab her hand— which he  _ hadn’t _ done— while she was walking home like some sort of fucking creep. 

She hadn’t even had any  _ warning _ . 

There’d just been a stall in the conversation, a change in his pace, and then the feeling of claws brushing against the back of her hand and a weight in her palm that made her jerk away like she’d touched a hot stove, and when she’d looked over, there he was with a stupid, almost  _ offended  _ looking expression on his face, like he  _ hadn’t _ just tried to do... whatever the fuck he was trying to do.

She’d stopped dead in her tracks. 

“What the  _ fuck? _ ”

“What?” 

“Don’t you fuckin’  _ what _ me— what the fuck was  _ that?” _ She hadn’t been able to keep her voice from pitching upward when she’d spoken, and that had really,  _ really _ only made that stupid faux-innocent grin he was wearing stretch wider. 

His hands had returned to his pockets when he’d spoken, though not before he’d rolled his shoulders and given a lazy little shrug. “Oh, just… figured you should start holding up your end of the bargain,” he’d explained. “Y’know. Been like… three days, and I  _ sorta _ need a bit of a boost, so…”

“...so?”

He hadn’t said another word. Instead, he’d carefully offered her his hand, palm up and fingers splayed, before raising his eyebrows and smirking.

It had taken her a minute to understand what the hell he meant. 

It had taken her even longer to  _ actually _ bring herself to do what he was asking— which was fit her hand into his. 

Her hands had stayed in her pockets. “...no.”

“Hey—  _ no _ no’s here, babe—”

Her expression had hardened, brows furrowing, shoulders rising slightly at the sarcastic endearment.  _ “No,”  _ she’d repeated, firmer. 

It hadn’t had any real effect on the demon. 

Fucking bastard. 

God. 

Even when he had raised both his hands defensively, there was still that little twinkle in his eye that had let her know that he wasn’t even  _ remotely _ sorry for the fact that her skin felt like it was fucking crawling on her back. “ _ Fine _ , I won’t call you nothin’— but you  _ still agreed.”  _

The hand that had been extended to her had shifted a little, then, its fingers wiggling slightly. 

Like she was actually going to take it. 

_ Fuck _ any agreement she’d made— he’d barely even followed  _ his  _ side of the damn thing.

She wouldn’t hold hands with him. 

It would only open the door for him to do that shit  _ again _ , and no matter what he’d said— something about being ripped through dimensions to  _ protect _ her or whatever bullshit she’d agreed to in a panic that she  _ severely  _ regretted— it wasn’t something she was going to help with. 

“Ethan,” she’d started, trying to keep her voice authoritative despite the fact that she was pretty much just talking to thin air and probably looked like a fucking  _ loon _ to anybody who happened to drive by, “I’m not gonna hold your fucking hand. Go… I dunno, bug someone else about this?”

“Can’t,” had come a cheery response, “not bound to ‘em like I am to you. They’d just kinda act like… fuck, everyone else does? Just feel it without seein’ shit.” 

Standing still had looked to be a challenge for him. He was just so  _ animated,  _ rocking back and forth on his heels with his tail flicking back and forth like a haywire metronome. Hell, the wings on his back had twitched, too, and for a small moment, Lex had thought that he’d go ahead and use them.

She’d wanted him to. She knew they worked— if he were to just fly off and not come back, she wouldn’t even bat an eye, she’d just watch him go, maybe flip him off as he went on his way and watch as he disappeared from sight. 

Maybe he’d get nailed by a low-flying plane. 

That’d be great. 

Sadly, that hadn’t happened. 

Instead, he’d flicked his tail one more time, and without another word, closed the distance between their hands.

So here she was, holding the hand of the demon that was trying to ruin her life— or humiliate her, or  _ probably  _ kill her— awkwardly in her own and power walking back toward the house with her head down, her shoulders hunched, and her steps quick enough to make any soccer mom jealous— not that Ethan seemed to mind. 

Tall fucker.

Tall stupid demon fucker.

Tall stupid demon fucker who was holding her hand with his long stupid demon claws.

Her hand laid stiffly in his own, fingers not curling around the side of his hand even as his claws lightly touched her skin and made her skin crawl on her back. 

It had been about minute 

A minute and twenty six seconds— not that she was counting, or anything— and she couldn’t relax, though she sure as shit couldn’t be blamed for it.

The set of sharp points on her skin were  _ more _ than a reminder of the fact that she was holding hands with not only  _ a  _ demon, but a demon who could  _ easily  _ cause her some real harm. His hand was warm, too, radiating heat even through his leather glove, but on the spots where their bare skin touched, she swore she could feel a weird, almost pins and needles sensation.

Which was  _ probably  _ him stealing her life force or whatever his deal was.

_ Really wish I’d asked more about that before shaking his damn hand.  _

She walked a little faster.

He kept pace.

She could see him out of her peripheral vision— chest puffed up like he was the fucking king of the world— though she refused to look at him directly. 

Not even when those claws lightly squeezed against her a little tighter. 

A little sound rolled up from his throat as the two fell into step with each other—  _ fuck, why is he so good at matching this? _

“Is this  _ really _ that bad?” He asked, at which Lex narrowed her eyes and kept her gaze fixated on the street in front of them. It was getting darker earlier, now, and with her hood drawn up and her hair hanging loosely in front of her eyes, she could barely see  _ shit _ , especially when she factored in having to squint in the breeze, but she could still see the end of the sidewalk and the lamppost that stood just before the street ended. 

_ Fuck, I have to get down like, five more streets. _

How come her house had to be so far away?

How come she hadn’t gotten her fucking liscence? She was  _ eighteen _ , she should’ve been able to get behind the wheel of her mom’s awful little blue…  _ thing _ . 

Whatever kind of car it was. 

Not that it really mattered  _ what _ kind of car it was— the damn thing  _ drove _ . 

But Lex Foster didn’t. 

“...hey, earth to Lex.” 

Blinking as Ethan broke her out of her thoughts, Lex lowered her shoulders and forced her legs to move faster,  _ faster _ — practically dragging him along with her despite the fact that he was the only one out of the two of them actually holding on. 

“What, Green?” She asked, voice coming out in more of a growl than words. 

The claws pressed to her skin tightened their grip. “You ain’t answered my question.”

The lamppost had never seemed further away. With a sigh, Lex begrudgingly turned to shoot him a tired look out of the corner of her eye. “Oh.  _ WellI…”  _

For a moment, she forced herself to look as though she was considering his words. Her eyebrows pinched together, and in the seconds before she spoke up, she couldn’t help but notice the fact that his skin was  _ still _ warm despite the fact that when she’d checked her phone, it had had some warning about a cold front that seemingly didn’t affect Ethan Green. 

Her shoe scuffed a little on the pavement. “I have a fucking  _ demon  _ leeching off my life force,” she informed him, dryly, “so take a guess.”

If he saw the hostility in her eyes or heard it in her voice, he ignored it. 

Instead, he shot her a toothy smirk and kept her pace easily to a point where if she wanted to be ahead of him, she’d have to actually break a sweat, which, after her shift, she sure as  _ shit _ wasn’t doing. 

It was weird that he’d defended her once, because he hadn’t made that choice again. Far from it. Every single time he knocked something off a shelf, it was like he made a  _ point _ of doing it whenever she was putting something back so it looked like  _ she  _ was the one doing it— and hell, if she took a shot every  _ fucking _ time he did it while she was  _ talking _ to somebody, she probably would’ve keeled over from alcohol poisioning in the first  _ hour _ of the store being open. 

He always wore that same stupid smirk when he did it, too.

A toothy, sideways thing that didn’t reach his eyes, which always stayed cold. 

It matched the one he was wearing now.

“...best moment of your life, right?” He tried with a flick of his tail that caught her in the back of the leg and nearly made her stumble. 

When they reached the end of the sidewalk, Lex forced herself to stop momentarily on the curb as a car rumbled down the street, the breeze enough to make Lex’s hair blow into her eyes. 

Her gaze automatically tracked to the window of the car.

She didn’t recognize the woman driving. 

_ I wonder what it looks like to her? _

After all, it had been made pretty damn clear that nobody but her could  _ actually see  _ Ethan— not that she was complaining about it. It just made her look like a fucking wackjob whenever she glared at him, or said… pretty much  _ anything _ to him with a witness, and as the car turned past them, momentarily blinding Lex in the seconds before its blinker turned off, she couldn’t help but wonder if it looked weird to have her hand suspended, seemingly in thin air. 

At the thought, she glanced down to their conjoined hands.

Her fingers had started to turn red in the cold, though his were still just as pale as ever— and still  _ warm _ , like he’d just had them in his pockets. 

When her gaze tracked up to his eyes, he took a sideways step closer to her. 

Lex pulled away without a second thought. “Don’t make me fucking drop you.” 

Ethan snickered softly. 

His tail lightly brushed against her leg again, causing her to inhale sharply and set her jaw— his voice only making her discomfort increase to a point where she was  _ more _ than a little tempted to swing at him. It would  _ probably _ only take one good hit to the jaw to get him to stop speaking in that fucking  _ infuriating _ tone of voice like she was a stubborn eight-year-old. “Aw, c’mon. It’s not  _ that  _ bad,” he wheedled. 

Her fingers twitched against his hand stiffly. Even though her hood and her hair left her with pretty intense tunnel vision, Lex could see him leaning ever so slightly closer to her to a point where she could  _ feel  _ it. 

When his fingers twitched in return, her whole hand tingled. 

Not pleasantly.

More like she’d just stuck it into a sauna after soaking it in ice water. 

_ Did he do that on purpose? _

_ Is he taking more than he needs? _

It was possible, but then again, she didn’t really have a way to gauge it, and she didn’t feel faint or anything like that, so she could  _ probably  _ assume he wasn’t doing anything unsafe… probably. 

_ Walk. _

She didn’t give him a warning before stepping onto the street, and from the slight pressure of his hand on his— claws jerking and digging into her skin just enough to make her flinch— it was pretty obvious that he’d been caught a tad off guard. 

Without another word, she moved to tug her hand away

There were about three seconds of feeling nothing but cold air before his fingers found her own again, and this time, when he held her hand, it was tighter. 

Inwardly, Lex smirked. 

Outwardly, she shot him a scowl.

“What, scared I’ll leave?” She asked, forcing her attention back to the path ahead when Ethan gave a soft huff. 

“Uh,  _ yeah _ ,” he agreed, squeezing her hand tightly enough to make her fingers all press together, “can ya blame me?”

Using her free hand, Lex fished into her pocket for a cigarette. “I wouldn’t be wanting to run away if you weren’t a jackass,” she informed him as she brought it up to her lips before grabbing her lighter and lighting her cig, “so  _ yeah _ . I can.”

The nicotine from the stick flooded her lungs on her next inhale, taking a little bit of the cold air’s edge off. For four steps, she held it in. 

When she exhaled, she made no effort to keep it from blowing into his face, puffing it out of the corner of her mouth in his direction. “Maybe if you made more of an effort to not be a fucking  _ prick _ , we wouldn’t have this problem.” 

Ethan’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, yeah,” he agreed, sarcasm dripping heavily from his words, “‘cause  _ that’s  _ what demons are known for. Being nice and all.”

Lex didn’t bother gracing his words with a response. 

Instead, she took another slow drag and picked another thing to focus on in the distance. 

She did that for the rest of the walk. 

First it was a dilapidated mailbox. 

A chain-link fence someone had recently fixed. 

A beaten police cruiser parked— thankfully  _ vacantly _ — far enough on the sidewalk to warrant a ticket— one that made Ethan snicker under his breath.

“Jesus, that one Sam’s?” He asked with a flick of his tail in its direction. “Fucker never learn to park or what?”

“Nah,” Lex responded through a cloud of smoke. “He doesn’t patrol around here anymore, ‘cause he’s—”

An article flashed through the back of her mind. 

Halfway through speaking, unable to keep herself from blinking a few times, she looked over the somewhat rusted cruiser with the cracked windshield. It looked like it had been left there awhile. Maybe a decoy car. 

Ethan cocked his head. “...he’s?” He prompted.

Lex shook herself. “...dead.” 

It was weird to think about. Even though he was dead, it was like he was still fucking  _ there _ somehow, hanging around Hatchetfield in the sound of patrol car sirens and crackling radios.

_ I knew him, and I barely even fucking noticed. _

Ethan’s grip on her hand loosened. “ _ Really?” _ He asked, incredulous.

Lex nodded. A laugh escaped her— not that the situation was funny. Even though he was an  _ asshole _ , it wasn’t like he’d deserved to die— no, she just had no other fucking idea as to what to even  _ do _ . “Yeah,” she seconded, “fuckin’ crazy. Dude used to run this town, and then he dropped off the fuckin’ map thanks to a meteor.” 

_ “Shit,”  _ Ethan breathed. 

Smoke curled from Lex’s lips. “Same thing that got Paul and Emma,” she added, “so maybe don’t… I dunno, bring it up.” 

To her surprise, the demon nodded. There was an almost serious look on his face when he did, too, one that was quick to melt into… concern?

_ What the fuck?  _

Was that genuine?

If so, it was new. 

As the two of them continued to walk and Lex took another small pull from the cigarette, she watched as Ethan glanced over his shoulder at the parked cruiser. 

“...shitty way to go,” he finally mumbled with a glance down at the sidewalk. Swinging his leg, he kicked at a glass shard, watching it skitter a few feet ahead of them. “Probably fuckin’  _ sucked _ . Wouldn’t have been all that quick or nothin’.” 

“Probably not,” Lex agreed, kicking the glass when they reached it.

A small piece of it cracked off. It didn’t go all that far, and within their next few steps, Ethan kicked it again. 

“Sucks.”

Another kick from Lex.

“They had each other,” she pointed out, at which Ethan’s hand stiffened in her own.

“...yeah.”

This time, it was his tail that hit up against the glass piece, and when the pointed end hit it, the thing  _ shattered _ , spraying small shards across the pavement. 

Like that, the weird, close to  _ comfortable _ atmosphere between them did the same thing. 

Inhaling smoke, Lex let her sneaker fall onto the glass pieces and crushed them underfoot as the pair of them strode past. “Hey,” she started, tone a little curious, “why… why are  _ they _ ghosts, anyway?” 

Carefully using her free hand to pull her hood down, Lex turned her head and met eyes with Ethan momentarily. It wasn’t like she really needed to look where she was going. Hell, she could probably do this whole damn walk with her eyes closed if she needed to, and out of her peripheral vision, she could see the entrance to the trailer park, just a few blocks up. 

His hand tensed slightly. 

“...what do you mean?”

Lex pulled the cigarette from her mouth and blew out a plume of smoke. “Well, I mean,  _ you’re _ not a ghost, and Hannah hasn’t claimed to have seen anyone else who’s died, so… why  _ them? _ ” 

Although he didn’t have a cigarette of his own, it looked as though smoke filtered between his teeth when he exhaled. “I’m… honestly not super sure,” he admitted, glancing down at the cracked sidewalk. “Somethin’ to do with needin’ to stick around, I think. Unfinished business with unselfish intention or some shit like that.”

Slowly, Lex brought the cigarette back up to her mouth and pinned the end of it between her teeth, pressing at it lightly. “So both of ‘em have... the same reason? Since they’re a couple or whatever?”

Ethan shrugged. “Not sure. Probably. Ain’t really my business— but apparently, ghosts usually come in twos, so I  _ think _ they’d have the same intention? I’m not an expert on that sort of shit, anyway.” 

Lex couldn’t help but snicker softly. “You just… what, don’t know anything about death?”

“Not like that.”

His tone was sharp. Sharper than before, and when Lex glanced at him again, his claws had shifted from sitting against the back of his neck to picking at his jacket— one of the stars on his shoulder. 

Lex bit her lip. 

“...think Sam’s a ghost?” She asked after a small pause.

That weird, faraway expression Ethan had been wearing fell away. His claws moved again, this time, running through hair that looked like it might’ve been curly under whatever the hell he’d used to style it. “Fuckin’  _ hope _ not. Don’t think the dude ever had any good intentions— I mean, he  _ was _ a cop.” 

“Yeah, and a shitty one at that.” 

“No kidding. He used to give Deb an’ I shit all the time— I  _ swear _ that motherfucker had a weed sense or some shit.” 

Lex bit her lip to hold back a laugh and took another puff from her cigarette. “Oh, yeah, for  _ sure _ . You do so much as  _ light _ a fuckin’ spliff around him and he is  _ on _ your ass.”

“Weed seeking missile,” Ethan seconded, flatly, though his lips were twitching slightly.

“Gets a little ping on his radio.”

“Coordinates.”

“Right into his brain, actually, fuck the radio, dude just—” Using her free hand, Lex waved it in front of herself with a whooshing noise. “—fuckin’  _ appears _ .” 

A new sound escaped Ethan in return. One she hadn’t heard him make before.

A laugh.

Not one of those dark chuckles he seemed to have mastered, but an actual, genuine  _ laugh _ that made his eyes crinkle around the corners and turned his usually neat, too-straight smile turn crooked even as he raised his hand to press against the bridge of his nose. “What, weed-based teleportation?”

Lex couldn’t help but join him, shaking her head and giggling under her breath. “Uh,  _ no _ . You kidding me? That man never touched a  _ single _ weed in his  _ life _ .”

Another bout of laughter tore from Ethan. The hand holding hers swung slightly, close enough to him that her fingers brushed lightly against his hip. “Not  _ one _ marijuana,” he agreed with a shake of his head, “ _ ever _ . Died without any. Fuckin’ loser.” 

“Well…” Trailing off to pull the cigarette from her mouth and drop it to the sidewalk, Lex tilted her head in Ethan’s direction. “Maybe he’s blazing as a ghost.” 

Again, Ethan shook his head. “Nah. Can’t get high after death, I don’t think.” 

A sympathetic wince flitted across her face. “Damn. Sucks for you, then.”

“Right?” With a small sigh, he counted off a few things on his fingers. “Got fuckin’ ripped off. Died at eighteen, can’t drive, can’t drink,  _ and _ I can’t get fuckin’ greened out. Shit blows.”

“Remind me not to die anytime soon,” Lex returned with a sigh. Dropping the cig, she crushed it under her foot.

Beside her, Ethan snickered. “Littering?” 

Lex raised her eyebrows. “Gonna stop me?”

“No.”

“Then can it.” 

As the pair of them turned and crossed into the trailer park, Lex slowly inhaled the cold, near-winter air, and glanced down to where her hand was fitted snugly in his own. 

Her palm was still tingling. 

Even after they both trudged up the front steps and their hands fell apart, the feeling remained, and although it left her with a nervous knot in her chest— a feeling that something had gone wrong—

* * *

Nothing did.

Nothing  _ had,  _ and as much as Ethan would  _ love _ to claim he’d made progress in terms of the whole “finding a perfect moment to strike and wipe Lex Foster off the face of the fucking earth” thing… 

He’d been hanging around for a week.

Been holding her hand every day when she walked home.

Dozing off on the couch with his wings folded over his head, but only after picking some other way to inconvenience their mother— his latest scheme involving his claws and a set of car tires that may or may not have belonged to her little blue shitbox— almost every night. 

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, he’d waited for Lex and Hannah’s conversation to fade off into sleep through the walls, watched as Paul and Emma retreated to what was supposed to be Ms. Foster’s room, and slunk out through the front door, making sure his tail didn’t catch in it on his way out into the night.

So much about Hatchetfield had changed since he’d last been there. 

Hands stuffed in his pockets and head down to keep his horns from clipping on any of the barren tree branches that stretched over the sidewalk, Ethat a pebble on the pavement and watched it skitter into a sewer grate with a dull clang. 

The noise seemed so loud in the night. 

Other than the sound of wind rustling overhead and his own breathing, Ethan was surrounded by silence as he walked and looked up at the somewhat clear sky. A few stars were visible through the usual Hatchetfield smog, and as Ethan’s eyes tracked to the moon, they reflected the light like those of a cat— not that he really cared. 

It just made it easier to see.

Again, he scuffed his shoe against the sidewalk, the toe of his sneaker catching lightly on a crack that he didn’t remember being there a year ago. 

A lot of things that had been different a year ago, actually. 

Not that he remembered much of it, but he was fairly certain that Hatchetfield hadn’t been  _ quite _ like this. 

It was weird. 

Like.  _ Really _ fucking weird to be able to walk down the same shitty streets and pretend that nothing had changed at all despite the fact that  _ so much had. _

It was always the little things that would catch him off guard. The first week of having to pretty much stalk Lex Foster had left him paying more attention to her than his surroundings, but now that he’d figured out her routine— her boring, bland,  _ long _ routine— he had more time to actually just… look around. 

And when he did, he noticed things. 

The trees lining the street were still there, just taller than he remembered, lacking the shitty support beams they’d needed for those first few years they’d been there. The streetlights still glimmered overhead as the sun crept lower but the bulbs flickered. The concrete was still in a state of disrepair— and although that was just how Hatchetfield had always been, he could’ve sworn less cigarette butts and gum wrappers had decorated the pavement last he’d seen it, not that he minded. It left him with more things to halfheartedly kick at on the five minute walk he’d gotten down to an art form. 

There was a formula to it. After all, Lex didn’t care enough to ask where he disappeared to— thank  _ god _ , or satan, or whoever the hell it was that was rooting for him at this point— and since she didn’t care enough to  _ ask _ , he was under  _ no  _ obligation to tell her.

And if she  _ did _ ask, he’d just lie to her face about.

After all, she may have set up a pretty damn strict set of rules, but lying to her was still something he could get away with. 

Usually, he made the walk in daylight, made it while Lex was off fixing whatever mess he’d made, but tonight… was different. He needed to think. Needed to get out of that house, just for five minutes.

Inhaling, he quickened his step. 

She never asked her where he’d gone. Not directly. 

Lying to  _ Lex  _ was easy.

Lying to  _ Hannah _ shouldn’t have been hard, but when that kid had looked him in the eyes a week ago— a whole fucking  _ week _ ago and point-blank just  _ told _ him what he’d been doing— he’d been caught off guard enough to actually  _ hesitate _ . 

Which was  _ such _ bullshit. 

Behind him, his tail skittered across the cracked concrete. 

The whole situation was bullshit, actually, but he wasn’t about to go down that rabbit hole in his head. Not yet, anyway. 

Looking up, he forced himself to unclench his jaw and exhaled out a heavy breath of fog. On his back, he could feel his wings threatening to twitch open and forced them to lay flat even as his tail clanged against one of the half-filled trashcans that the city must’ve put out after he’d bitten the dust. 

Not that he would’ve used them or anything like that. 

Not that anybody seemed to, either, if the half-crushed soda cup idly moving in the breeze a little further down the alley was any indication.

He crushed it under his shoe without sparing it much of a glance. 

His gaze was focused on the one thing in the alley that hadn’t seemed to have changed. 

It shouldn’t have still been there.

Not that he was complaining— far fucking from it— but logically speaking, the beaten jalopy he’d spent way too much time in should’ve ended up getting towed, or stolen. He hadn’t thought it’d  _ actually _ still be there, and every time he’d come back, he’d been pretty damn sure it would be his last visit before the thing was torn to pieces, but…

The cracked windshield was the only thing that he picked out as being different. 

Other than that, the jalopy was still just as he’d left it. 

Reaching into one of his inner pockets for the fob and single, silver key that dangled from its ring, Ethan looped his claw through the ring and twirled it a few times as he drew nearer before sticking it back into his pocket— instead, hopping onto the jalopy’s hood, being careful not to scratch the already damaged paint with his shoes. It wasn’t like he could fix it, and as much as the idea of sitting inside was tempting, he really,  _ really _ couldn’t afford to fix the battery—

He stopped. 

Blinked. 

Something in his chest twisted. 

...right.

It didn’t matter. 

His next exhale was an awkward, dry sort of chuckle. 

_ Just another reason I can’t really let the battery die.  _

One, he was broke as shit, and two, he was a  _ demon _ who was broke as shit. 

A demon, who was broke as shit, who  _ happened  _ to be invisible to everyone except for the Foster sisters, alongside two ghosts— not that they counted. They had  _ definitely _ thrown a wrench into things. Right from the fucking get-go, Emma had been  _ on  _ his ass about  _ every fucking thing _ , and Hananh’s cryptic, crazy,  _ bullshit _ hadn’t helped anything either. As much as she didn’t talk much, her words echoed enough in his head that it seemed to him she’d never shut her mouth.

But hell, he couldn’t blame  _ her _ . No. It was that stupid fucking spider she had in her head, allegedly.  _ Webby _ .

His claws rapped slightly on the roof as he slid into place, tail hanging loosely down over one of the doors and wings hunched up over his shoulders. His shoes rested on the windshield, skirting carefully over one of the cracks there. 

It was a position he’d taken more times than he’d liked to admit. 

He didn’t end up in it all that often anymore. 

Now, he had to limit it. Against the glass, his heels tapped a few times. His tail coiled loosely around one of the door handles, and as he exhaled and closed his eyes, he let his wings fall open behind him, not stretching or straining, just… hanging there. 

The only thing that would make this better would be a cigarette. 

Hell, even a warm drink would do. Not that he really felt much cold anymore, but he  _ also _ didn’t exactly feel  _ energized _ by… pretty much anything, other than the person he was supposed to find some way to off— and usually, it wasn’t something she was something she wanted to help him out with. 

Beside him, his claws shifted on the dark paint. 

As much as his memory was pretty shitty— hell, he couldn’t remember much that had gone on while he was alive, save for what had happened at the  _ end _ of his time being alive— he  _ could _ remember the agreement the pair of them had come to, and from that, he knew that she’d  _ agreed  _ to help him out. 

Somewhat willingly. 

God, and when he’d taken her hand, he’d felt  _ something. _

Nothing romantic— none of that lovey-dovey bullshit, no, something  _ alive _ . Something undoubtedly  _ human. _

There was nothing special about her hand. It had just kind of… been fitted stiffly into his with fingers forced to lay limp, and if he hadn’t been so focused on the feeling that came with feeling her skin brushing against his, he might’ve felt the same awkwardness that he knew she was probably experiencing— but mentally, he’d barely been present. 

It wasn’t like he’d been  _ high _ or anything. 

What he’d give to be high. 

In his chest, something had moved. 

There’d been a soft thump from behind his ribs.

Followed by another.

And another.

Something steady. 

Something  _ beating _ . 

His claws had dug a little more into her skin than she’d been comfortable with, but in his defence, it wasn’t every day that his  _ fucking heart _ started beating again. It felt  _ weird. _ Wrong, almost, but at the same time, like a piece being fitted into place. One that he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing. 

Raising one hand, he slid it under his jacket, pressing it lightly to his chest. 

His silent chest. 

That was the weirdest thing about it.

Once it had come back, it hadn’t exactly been hard to just… ignore the absence of. His chest felt hollow, and even as he shifted how his hand rested against his flimsy shirt, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to the miserable person who’d made it pump the way it had a year ago. 

One Lex Foster by name. 

His fingers twisted the fabric. 

It wasn’t fair that she was the one that made his heart work properly. It wasn’t like she helped him out  _ often _ or anything like that— he had to just fucking take initiative and hope for the best, usually just patting the cusion beside him and cocking his head whenever he sat on the couch— and he knew he should’ve been thankful for the times she’d sigh and slump beside him, sitting stiffly, and only for a few minutes, but a small, small part of him didn’t want her to get back up. 

After all, having a heartbeat wasn’t something he used to think had a feeling. 

It was just something that had  _ happened _ , but now that it started and stopped— only when he was around her— he could  _ feel _ what he was missing. 

It wasn’t something he could really describe. 

When it was there, there was a pulse, a rhythm, some weird, invisible beat that guided him, but now? 

Forcing his hand down, he let it rest on the cold hood of the car beside him and exhaled out a slow sigh through his teeth. 

Now, there was just… this weird fucking  _ emptiness  _ that he shouldn’t have even been aware of, and as he shifted how he was sitting to lay down, wings folding a little over his sides, he could feel his chest rising and falling with his every breath despite the lack of heartbeat. 

The crescent moon above was mostly hidden by a cloud. One of his arms rested behind his head, though when he tipped his head back a little further and sighed softly, his horns clipped against the roof of the jalopy. 

His hand didn’t move from where it lay against his chest. 

His wings slowly, slowly unfurled, hanging loosely down from his shoulders and over the sides of the car— narrowly avoiding brushing them up against the brick walls of the alley on his either side. 

If it was cold outside, he couldn’t feel it. 

Humming in the back of his throat in a lazy sort of consideration, Ethan kept his gaze trained upward on the slowly passing clouds. His chest rose and fell. His heart laid uselessly behind his ribs. His tail twitched, if only slightly. 

His eyes slid closed. 

There were so many things he  _ should’ve  _ been doing, rather than laying around on the roof of his car like a lazy cat. He could’ve been out and about wreaking havoc, or he could’ve been trying to figure out how the hell to get a pair of ghosts to offer up their souls in exchange for some pretty lie he’d weave—  _ or _ he could be trying to bring harm to the Foster sisters through some roundabout method…

He shifted his weight on the car.

Stretched. His wings flared out to their fullest extent at his sides, back arching slightly. 

Breathed again. 

His eyes stayed closed. 

_...I could’ve sworn the alleyway was narrower than this— _

“So how’s it been goin’, Green?” 

_ Shit. _

_ No… c’mon, really? _

It had been a  _ week _ since he’d last heard from Wiley, so he  _ probably _ shouldn’t have been so surprised, but he didn’t exactly need a conversation about how he was such a fuckup and wasting what little time he’d been loaned and  _ do you want to be one of them, Green?  _ He’d pass. 

Not that he got a choice. 

When his eyes opened, the blackness of the sky above was gone, replaced with a familiar, blinding white— though it was quick to fade to the ceiling of an old theater that he’d come to recognize. Under his back, the jalopy had disappeared, changing to lumpy seats with armrests that dug into his spine, and when he turned his eyes to the figure standing just beside him…

“...not bad,” he lied, moving one hand to lightly scratch at his arm as Wiley nodded. 

The other demon’s hands were on his own tail, lightly twirling the green end of it between his fingers as he settled on the edge of the stage, the spotlight that always seemed to move of its own accord trailing after him. 

“Good,” he returned, nodding as he did, “and uh, how’s  _ Lex _ doing?” 

Ethan winced. He hadn’t meant to. The hand laying over his chest tensed, his fingers curling into a tight fist— claws digging into his skin— as he carefully stood and stretched himself out again with a sigh, pointedly avoiding eye-contact with Wiley. 

“...she’s fine.”

The second the words left his lips, he had a small, sneaking suspicion that  _ he  _ wouldn’t be. Swallowing nervously and moving to join Wiley where he sat on the edge of the stage, Ethan gave a sheepish laugh and thwacked the end of his tail against one of the low-mounted stagelights. “I’m doin’ my job.” His hands found each other. His claws dug into the back of his glove. 

Wiley nodded. “Just… takin’ your time?” He suggested. 

Ethan shifted how he was sitting. When he nodded, it was slow. Stiff. “Not like I’m running out.”

A moment of silence passed between them. 

“...yet.”

_ What? _

Turning his head against his better judgement, Ethan furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?”

Wiley rolled his shoulders and spread his hands out in front of him with a theatrical bob of his head and a flick of his tail. “Well, Green, you said it yourself— you’re on the clock, ain’t’cha?”

“I don’t remember saying—”

A chuckle cut him off. “Unimportant. You’re missing the point. See, Ethan, the  _ point _ is that you’re not…” Stopping, Wiley curled his tail loosely around his forearm and exhaled heavily, lowering his head as he did. “ _ Trying _ , I don’t think.”

Ethan gave an awkward laugh. The noise sounded more like an incredulous wheeze. His nose wrinkled. “I— hey,  _ no _ , I’m trying! I’m just tryin’ to figure out her routine. Once I got  _ that _ down, I’ll figure out how th’ hell to knock her off without gettin’ sent back here, I just—”

“Wait, sent  _ back? _ ” Wiley interrupted. 

_...why does he sound surprised? _

Unsaid question on his tongue, Ethan shifted how he was sitting once again and forced himself to keep quiet as Wiley raised his eyebrows and smirked. 

“What…”

Ethan’s throat felt dry. Swallowing, he tried again to speak. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, nothin’!” Wiley exclaimed, raising his hands defensively. “Jus’ cute that’cha think you’ll end up the way you are now if ya fuck this one up.”

For a moment, it felt as though the sensation of his breathing stopped. The spotlight’s gleam felt harsher. Maybe it  _ had _ grown harsher. Ethan’s hands moved from where they had rested on his lap to wrap around the edge of the stage, claws chipping into the wood. “...what do you mean?” He croaked.

Wiley stood. His wings flared open— bathing the stage in a sickly green colour. “What I  _ mean _ , Green,” he started before pausing to smirk at the rhyme, “is that you ain’t… whole.”

As he spoke, he began to pace, drawing nearer to the seats across from Ethan with his tail trailing quietly along behind him. “See, you an’ I, we made a  _ deal _ , and since it happened  _ before _ ya officially kicked it, you  _ do _ still have a bit of a soul left in ya. Ain’t  _ gone _ yet, but… it’s flickerin’.” 

Automatically, Ethan raised a hand to his chest. “...I— s-sorry,  _ what?”  _ He stammered. “I don’t understand, I… I thought that if I didn’t get her soul, next time I get summoned or whatever, I’d get another—”

“If she  _ expels  _ ya, it’s different.” 

Ethan’s words died in his throat the second Wiley raised his voice. The other demon’s eyes were  _ glowing _ in the spotlight’s shine, gleaming dangerously. 

“See,  _ that  _ ain’t your fault, an’ that’s  _ fine _ . However, if  _ you _ fail? One soul’s gotta end up here. Even it all out, understand? So if  _ she  _ ain’t fillin’ your spot…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

Ethan’s mind was racing fast enough to do it for him. 

_ Shit. _

Wiley snickered. “...that last name of yours might end up bein’ a bit more literal, though if ya take it from me, red’s  _ much _ more your—”

Ethan scrambled to his feet. “It ain’t gonna happen,” he snapped, nostrils flaring, “so fuckin’  _ drop it. _ I ain’t gonna be one of them, a-and I’ll make sure Lex  _ is _ , okay?”

_ He’s just trying to get to me. _

_ Just like he always is. _

_ Fucking snap out of it.  _

It was what the asshole was  _ good _ at, getting under his skin and prodding at him  _ just _ enough to make his hackles raise— and Ethan hated himself for falling for it every damn time. Hook, line, and sinker. 

Just like he was falling for it now.

Wings opening defensively on his back and head lowered, Ethan met Wiley’s challenging gaze and bared his teeth. 

“I’ve got this under control.”

“Glad to hear it, Green.”

For some reason, the use of his last name made him flinch. 

Even as Wiley stalked back toward him with a faux-warm smile and gave a soft laugh, he couldn’t keep himself from growling like a cornered animal. 

“Hey, easy. Save that for Foster. I’ll let’cha get back to work, though… Green?”

Another flinch pulled at his face. 

“...what?” He questioned, warily. 

Wiley’s grin widened. “Next time ya lie to me, try to do it convincingly.”

When he snapped back into it, it was with a crash of his wings against the alley walls and a sudden feeling of falling that caused him to give a sharp yelp—

He didn’t manage to catch his balance. 

In a mess of red and black, Ethan slipped off the top of his car and into the space between the tires and the alley wall with a dull thump.

He didn’t bother getting up.

Above him, the moon watched. The stars twinkled. 

Shakily, his chest rose and fell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings? Disgusting. Never.


	18. in times like these

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again from me-- please oh PLEASE check out the tags before you hit this one. Definitely graphic descriptions of violence this time around under the first cut, along with a nightmare dream sequence, so if either of those could be triggering, please don't hesitate to pm me and ask me for a summary! For the rest of you... enjoy!

If Emma had a penny for every fucking time Ethan had tried to cheat at Clue, she’d have enough to pay off her student loans, move out of the trailer house she was currently stuck in for the rest of her life— or afterlife, whatever— buy her pot farm, a private jet, _and_ fly off to Hawaii for a vacation with all expenses paid. 

Paid in pennies, sure, but paid nonetheless. 

Fuck’s sake, cheating at clue was kind of pathetic, and the fact that he was cheating off _Paul_ was the part that really didn’t add up, not to mention, he was doing it in a way that was glaringly obvious. 

Even from where she was floating just on the other side of the table, Emma could _clearly_ make out the way his head was tilted _just_ enough to glance over the edge of his own sheet and over at Paul’s like some teen trying to scrape through a pop quiz, and the way he was sitting really added to it. One of his hands was resting on the table, claws rapping lightly at the wood, and with every breath it took, it seemed like he was tipping his chair back further and further— the angle he was holding his neck at changing to a point where it looked like it could snap at any given moment. 

“...gonna make a guess?” She asked, floating a little closer to the table. 

Ethan’s eyes didn’t move. His claws rapped on the table, other hand loosely gripping the pencil and scratching a small mark onto his scoresheet. “Gettin’ there.”

Emma nodded. With a casual smirk, she tilted her head and tried her best to sound innocent. “...too busy reading off Paul’s sheet?”

A choked noise wound up from Ethan’s throat in response, and when his eyes flicked to hers—

_Checkmate._

—there was a slight glint of guilt in them before it disappeared behind a glare. 

“Okay, _first_ of all,” he started, letting his chair come back down to all four legs with a thump, “you’ve got no proof.”

Beside him, Lex leaned over his shoulder. “Uh, there _is_ like the entirety of your sheet,” she pointed out, at which Ethan pulled the paper against his chest.

“Hey— what the fuck happened to _me_ cheating? She’s looking at my sheet— she _just admitted it_ —”

“I’m making an _observation!”_ Lex countered, though before she could actually say what her observation _was_ , Ethan shot her a toothy grin and snorted. 

“So am _I_ , and _mine’s_ that _you’re_ a fucking _cheater_ , Foster.”

“Guys, _Hannah_ ,” Paul interrupted, tucking his sheet against his chest. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a _quiet_ game?”

This time, it was Emma who laughed, lifting a hand to her face in a shitty attempt at muffling it when Paul shot her a disappointed look. “When was the last time _we_ played a quiet board game?” 

Board games with Paul, as far as Emma could remember, had been a whole shitload of things, but quiet had never been one of them, not that it was his fault. 

Not always, anyway.

He’d never _added_ to the noise as far as Emma could remember, but a lot of times, he’d provoke it— provoke it with a smug little glance and a comment that _probably_ wasn’t meant to sound as smarmy as it would, and like that, she’d be off to the fucking races, though it was never anything all that serious. If it had bugged him, she was fairly certain he would’ve tossed the games, or stopped bringing them down whenever she had a particularly shitty day at work. 

Board game nights didn’t happen often, but when they broke out the well-worn boards— usually risk or scrabble— from where they were kept in the hall closet, Emma had to admit, time seemed to absolutely _fly_ by, even when the game dragged and they had to finish it in the morning— both of them _insisting_ that the other needed to go to sleep. 

They were the perfect way to blow off steam.

Usually through violence. 

And also dice. 

Along with a choice amount of cursing, the good brand of cheap Hatchetfield booze, and a weekend to sleep it all off. 

Meeting Paul’s eye with a crooked smile, Emma couldn’t keep herself from attempting to muffle another laugh when Paul’s expression turned exasperated. 

Ethan quirked a brow. “S’that a youth…” He started to say, though his sentence trailed off into a confused look. “...youth-the… fuck, you know that word for when something means something else?”

“A metaphor?” Paul tried, though Ethan was quick to shake his head. 

“Nah, none of that english class bullshit— like that but dirty, fuckin’... euthinasia?”

The sound that escaped Emma in response sounded like a cross between a wheeze and a choke. 

“ _Euthanasia?”_ Lex echoed.

Ethan threw up one of his hands— running his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “I don’t fucking know! Something— fucking hell, something with _youth_ in it— youth-the…”

Another round of laughter pulled from Emma. 

She couldn’t help it. It just slipped right the fuck out— mostly thanks to the way Paul’s expression changed so quickly from annoyed to _mortified_ , along with the tone of voice Ethan took and the fact that Lex gave a genuine bark of laughter— it wasn’t like she _couldn’t_ join in with the teenager as Ethan bared his teeth and scrubbed a hand down the front of his face. 

“Okay, _fuck_ — would you help me out here?” He sputtered, glancing helplessly at Lex— still in the middle of a laughing fit— to Emma.

She didn’t feel a chill when he looked at her. 

It was almost like he was more human than he had been a week ago. Less of a prick. Sure, she was still _wary_ of him, seeing as he’d thrown her into a _fucking wall_ without doing so much as touch her, but in all honesty? He could’ve been way worse. He could’ve been actually threatening any of the players with violence or whatever his deal was, rather than looking at Emma with genuine frustration in his eyes while struggling to find the word—

“ _Euphemism?”_ Emma finally inputted, only succeeding in making Lex _harder_ , though when she _did_ —

Ethan shot her a grin. His whole face lit up, and for a moment, it was genuinely easy to forget about the fangs lining his jaws despite the fact that his face was split in a wide smile. 

_Fuck._

_He really is just a teenager, isn’t he?_

She didn’t want to dwell on it.

Instead, she brought a hand up to her mouth and bit down on one of her fingers in an attempt to stifle a laugh that threatened to bubble up from her throat at Ethan’s reaction. 

_“Yeah!_ ’ He enthused, slamming his hand down hard enough on the table to make the whole thing wobble, a few of the game pieces threatening to tip over. “That’s the bitch— that a fuckin’ _euphemism_ , Paul? Dirty little _metaphor_ or whatever you said? A quiet board game—”

“ _No!”_ Paul cut him off, face turning a shade of red that made Emma’s contained giggles start to slip past her lips, and a few more shot through the air when he met her eyes.

 _God_ , those fucking eyes of his. 

They’d always been so expressive. Even when he was just a stranger in the line at Beanie’s, he’d been an easy to read stranger right from the start. One of the best kinds of stranger, if she was being honest. 

The kind with an easy order, the kind that _tipped_ , regardless of how shitty the service was— the kind that seemed to tip _extra_ when the place was crowded and it took her a few minutes to get to him— and the kind of stranger that she actually didn’t mind talking to some mornings. 

Though now that he _wasn’t_ a stranger anymore, it was even _easier_ to tell exactly what he was thinking— not that the utter _embarrassment_ on his face would take a psychic to crack. It was painfully obvious, and although a small part of her felt bad for him as he stammered, most of her wanted nothing more than to laugh along with Lex. 

One of his hands rose to fiddle with the end of his tie as he took a deep breath in, eyes flicking from Emma to the demon at his side before falling shut entirely. “It— it just means what it sounds like it means?” He tried, voice pitching upward slightly, words coming out _just_ a little too quickly to not be a little embarrassed. 

“That’s _really_ not helping your case,” Lex responded with a snort, at which Emma nodded.

“It’s not,” she seconded, albeit, shakily thanks to contained laughter that was growing harder and harder to keep back as Paul’s expression turned more and more pleading. “But he’s not lying— we _literally_ used to just sit around and play board games. I used to kick his ass at pretty much everything—”

“Except risk.”

For a second, she paused, giving a small sigh.

“...except risk,” she corrected.

Paul smirked. 

She rolled her eyes. 

“ _Whatever_ , don’t look at me like that— point is, _no,_ it’s not a euphemism. We just liked board games when we were alive.”

“You liked them then?” Paul asked, an innocent tone in his voice. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Shut it, dork.”

At Emma’s words, Ethan gave an over-the-top gag and set his sheet facedown on the table. “I’ve got it,” he announced, a voice a little louder than the whispers Paul had been trying to get them all to stay at for the past ten minutes. 

Beside him, Lex picked up her cards and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Bet.”

“I _will.”_

“Then get on it,” Emma prompted, earning an exasperated huff from the demon in question.

“ _Jesus_ , have some fucking _patience—_ fine.It was _Plum_ , with the _wrench_ , in the _garage._ Just makes sense.” 

Lex shot him a smirk in return.

“Tough luck,” she remarked, carefully fishing one card out of her hand and flashing its face at Ethan, who narrowed his eyes and groaned. 

“But he seemed so _guilty!_ ”

With a shake of her head, Lex slid the card back into her hand and shrugged. “Dude has a rock solid alibi,” she explained. “Wasn’t him, and do you _really_ think someone who dresses like _that_ could kill anyone?”

Without so much as a second thought, Emma reached for her pencil where it sat just next to the edge of the board and brought it to her paper, crossing out the spot marked “Plum”.

Paul watched and gave a sigh. Out of her peripheral, she could see that his embarrassment had faded into the same expression he’d worn for the entire game setup— one of quiet exasperation. “...you know the whole point of the game is to make sure that _not_ everyone at the table knows who you’re guessing,” he started, slowly, “right?”

“Oh yeah?” Ethan asked in return, puffing up his chest and cocking his head. “Well, that was a private conversation, so… _technically_ , _you’re_ the one being rude.”

Paul opened and closed his mouth a few times. The only noises that escaped him were the beginnings of a few sentences— just a couple of syllables that could’ve been any number of words before he ended up shaking his head and exhaling slowly.

“...I’m gonna roll,” he finally settled with, and without waiting for any response, he carefully picked up the two dice off the tabletop with what looked to be ease but definitely wasn’t.

She was the only one who noticed the two squares dipping slightly into his palms before he closed his hands and shook them around.

Even dead, he still did that same stupid thing whenever he rolled— brought the dice up to his face and blew on them with the claim that it was good luck.

Back on that fucking superstition train.

If the Fosters had a black cat, she was fairly certain he’d be shitting bricks every time it did so much as breathe in his direction. 

From where he sat, Ethan narrowed his eyes. “...is this that fucking good luck thing?”

Paul gave a nod. “Never fails,” he remarked, confidently, before tossing the dice onto the table with a sharp clatter. 

The dice that landed, respectively, on a one, and a two. 

Emma shot him a crooked smile. “...think that might’ve failed, Paul,” she said, though Paul only shook his head and shrugged.

“I’ll just use the secret passageway. See?” Pointing at the corner of the kitchen square, Paul picked up the blue playing piece and moved it from there to the study before glancing down at his cards— taking care to hold them away from Ethan. 

Lex squinted at the board. “Can you do that after a roll?”

“Since when did you care about the rules?”

Lex responded by thwacking Ethan on the side of the head with the rule pamphlet she’d had to pretty much religiously refer to the whole game. “Since _you_ decided you could break all of them— since when has fucking doubles meant someone has to show you two cards?”

Raising his hands defensively as Lex set the sheet down on her lap, Ethan narrowed his eyes before rolling them and huffing under his breath. “Hey, _Paul_ believed me—”

“You knew all my cards anyway,” Paul pointed out, looking down at his scoresheet one more time before setting it facedown on the table, “and it wasn’t like I had anything to lose.”

“‘Cept the game,” Emma challenged.

When he shot her a goofy smirk in return, had her heart still been beating, it would’ve stuttered in her chest. There was a look of mock-offense tinging it, something that hid just beneath the surface, but Emma had seen that look enough times to recognize it as one of fondness. 

Fondness and stubbornness. 

Like when she asked him to please, _please_ not attack her after she’d _just_ conquered Brazil, and he’d just rolled his dice with that same expression. 

The expression of someone who clearly thought he was going to win. 

Which was _bullshit—_ there was _no_ way she was going down without a fight in the very least. 

“I’m guessing Mustard—”

Emma’s gaze flicked to her cards. She bit her cheek to hide a smile.

_Nope._

“—in the kitchen.”

_Definitely not._

“With…” Frowning, he glanced down at the board, lifted his cards to look at them a little better, set them back on the table, and bit his lip.

“...the dagger,” he settled with, still smirking as he met her eyes— though it was quick to fall when he saw the look on her face. 

_Fuck._

Maybe he wasn’t the only easy to read one in the room. Forcing her lips together in a straight line and squaring his shoulders, Emma shakily exhaled through her nose and shuffled around her cards, opting to show him the room rather than the person. After all, she was fairly certain he had the suspects narrowed down to like, _three_ people, and although she didn’t know his standing on weapons, from the way he was guessing, he was just blindly picking rooms and hoping for the best. 

Before she spun her hand around, she shot Ethan a halfway glare. “Don’t look,” she instructed. 

Ethan raised his hands in surrender. “Hey— relax, I don’t _need_ to.” 

“Yeah,” Lex agreed, lifting her arms from where she’d kept them folded on the table, along with her head— _shit, she looks tired_ — she flashed him a grin, “he’ll just cheat off Paul later.”

“ _No I fucking won’t!”_

“Oh, _bullshit_ , that’s… pretty much what you’ve done every round.”

Scrambling to pull his sheet up from where he kept it on the table, Ethan shot Lex a heated glare. 

The _second_ his attention was off her, Emma flipped the card around and flashed its face to Paul. 

The look of something Emma could only describe as _despair_ that flashed across his face spoke _volumes._

She hadn’t thought it would even be _possible_ for his face to fall further, but when he gave what could almost be described as a wince and lost that underlying smugness his guessing tone had he’d held in a matter of seconds, Emma was proven wrong.

And to be honest, it was fucking hilarious. 

Lips twitching, threatening to break into a full smile, she kept her gaze trained on him as he lifted his sheet and mournfully ticked off another box. 

His eyes didn’t leave his paper for another long moment. “...really narrows it down.”

In an instant, Ethan’s head whipped back around to face them. “—did you already fucking show him?” He sputtered, though when his voice raised—

“ _Hannah’s asleep,”_ Paul scolded.

The look on Ethan’s face was fucking priceless.

God. If she still had her phone, it’d be his contact photo for _sure_ , though the item seemed to be like, the _only thing_ that hadn’t transferred over, which had sucked. It would’ve made things a hell of a lot easier, that was certain.

_I could text Tom._

_And Tim._

_Fuck, maybe even Nora— Hidgens, too._

Maybe continue some coursework from beyond the grave— though knowing the old coot, that’d probably send him over the fucking edge. He walked a fine line between insane and endearing, and Emma _swore_ up and down that the more he taught, the more toward the insane side he slipped.

Even though the thought of him was fleeting, it was enough to make her give a small scoff under her breath.

God. 

The only crazy professor she should’ve been thinking about was professor _Plum_ , whose innocence had been _proven_ thanks to Ethan being a fucking loudmouth. 

“Right, I’m rolling,” Emma informed the group as she swiped at the dice— nearly dropping them in an attempt to pick them up.

_Focus._

They didn’t dip into her hands when she shook them around, though instead of dropping them to the table normally, Emma broke her concentration and let them slide through her fingers like water to roll on the table, clacking against each other before settling on—

“ _Hell_ yeah— two sixes!” Grabbing her piece— red— Emma took a moment to consider the board, glanced down at her scoresheet, and grinned at Paul before shifting her playing piece to the courtyard— one of those rooms that got overlooked like, every fucking time anyone pulled out Clue, and from the groans that rose up from the other players, had been overlooked this round, too. 

“How long has that been a fucking option?” Ethan grumbled.

Lex shrugged. “Since Emma made it up, probably.”

“It’s on the sheet!” Emma protested. “And if you’re gonna complain about something, complain about the fact that this idiot built a mansion that has like, _no_ connecting rooms. Seriously— imagine you need to take a shit at three in the morning and have to slog all the way across the courtyard to get there.” 

“That’s _really_ not something I want to think about,” Paul mumbled, at which Ethan gave a laugh.

“Hey— one of the only perks of bein’ a glorified corpse.” 

“True!” Emma agreed, “that and like, the fact that we don’t have to sleep, that’s kinda neat—”

She was interrupted by Lex muffling a yawn with the back of her hand. 

_Shit._

_Right._

While three of the players didn’t seem to need sleep… one of them sure as hell did. Emma’s eyes moved from where they’d been focused on Ethan to take a look at Lex where she half-sat, half looked as though she was about to fall asleep where she was leaned up against the board, arms crossed and head resting neatly against the crook of her elbow. 

Paul’s hand gently brushed through her shoulder. Above them, the dimmed down light buzzed brightly, bright enough to make Lex wince.

“ _Please_ don’t pop it again,” she cautioned. 

Paul bit his lip.

Slowly, the fizzling stopped. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand away from Lex before clearing his throat, “ _We_ may not have to sleep, but I think that it’d probably be best if you—”

Lifting her hands off the board and running her fingers through her hair, Lex gave a small nod of her head. “I… yeah, okay, cut me off in like…” Leaning her chair back, she squinted over at the microwave clock before sighing. “Ten more minutes. If the game isn’t done by then…” With a shrug, she glanced up from the board to the other players. “I… fuckin’ forefeit, I guess. Really didn’t think it’d take this long.” 

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Box says it takes like, an hour,” she pointed out.

Lex exhaled a laugh. “Yeah, I know that. Have to sell a shitload of ‘em at work. People really fuckin’ like this game for some reason. Only really have a copy thanks to damaged stock.” Gesturing at the somewhat caved-in box, she leaned back in her chair and heaved a breathy sigh. “Hananh usually wins like… god, ten minutes in. She’s _really_ good at guessing games for some fuckin’ reason.”

“Hey, me too—”

“Cheating doesn’t count, Ethan,” Emma interrupted him, smugly, before turning her eyes to Lex and gesturing at her card, “now, got anything to show me?”

Lex’s gaze flicked down to her hand. “...nope.”

“Ethan?”

...was it bad that it was kind of entertaining to see him struggling to pick up his set of cards thanks to his claws? It took him a good three tries to even flick _one_ card into his grasp, let alone the rest of his hand, but when he did—

“Oh, that was a fuckin’ waste of time,” he grumbled, slapping them irritably back down on the tabletop.

_Shit, is that it?_

Emma drifted closer to the table. “...Paul?”

The second she met his eyes, she knew she was wrong. 

“Ah, shit.”

“What?” He asked, innocently, at which Emma scoffed.

“Don’t you fuckin’ _what_ me— which card do you have?” 

The look of faux confusion he wore slipped. His lips pulled back in a wide grin, a small laugh pulling from him as Emma gave another low huff and crossed her arms expectantly. 

“ _Well?”_

When he flipped his hand around to show her the courtyard, her eyes narrowed. 

“...damn it.” The fact that she’d ruled out the two rooms closest to the courtyard _really_ didn’t help her case, either, and from the look on Paul’s face, the cheeky fucker _knew it_ , too. 

They were in for a long night.

But in all honesty? Emma didn’t really mind. 

The game was fun, the company was good, and Ethan… weirdly enough, was included.

Something about him had changed in the past week. Sure, he was still a bit of a prick, and yeah, he still _was_ a demon who could easily hurt any of the game’s players, but in all honesty? He was _also_ just a teenager on a Wednesday night having some fun with a board game. It was always easy to forget that bit. After all, he stood taller than her, sounded like he was older thanks to the soft, growling undertone his words tended to carry, but there were all those little things that would always jump out and remind her that he’d died at _eighteen_. 

_He’d be nineteen, now._

The thought made her stomach twist. 

_...what if that happens to—_

No.

Nope. 

Not going down that fucking rabbit hole, no thank you. 

There was only one thing happening to the living teenager that the three were playing Clue with, and that was a good night’s sleep. 

Probably.

* * *

She didn’t go to sleep ten minutes later. 

Or twenty. 

Or even thirty.

It had taken her a whopping _forty minutes_ of watching Ethan and Emma getting into a verbal sparring match— long after the game had ended— over the missing card that had led Ethan to lose the entire fucking game with Paul exasperatedly trying to hush them to finally force herself to her feet, and even _then_ , making herself actually brush her teeth and slip into some half-assed pyjamas (an old tee shirt and sweats that probably hadn’t been washed since the fall of Rome or some shit like that) had been a whole fucking ordeal. The fact that she’d had to do so quietly, too, really added to the whole trial in a way that had left her with her eyes heavy and her movements turning sluggish.

The only thing she’d been somewhat coordinated in doing had been tucking Hannah in, but she’d had to take thay slow thanks to not wanting to wake her sister up— not that Hannah wasn’t a heavy sleeper.

When the kid was out, she was _out_ , and she didn’t do so much as twitch at Lex’s presence, seemingly unbothered by the loud noises that had most likely echoed down the halls.

Thank fuck.

Flopping into her bed and halfheartedly tugging her shitty blankets up around herself in a sort of cocoon, Lex pressed her face hard against her pillow and exhaled, slowly.

Not out of anger, just… felt good to get to bed. Some rest was what she needed. Getting up at six _sucked_ major ass, but Hatchetfield elementary was a half hour walk away, and getting ready would tack another forty five minutes onto the whole routine, _and_ she had to leave some allotted time for shit to go wrong— because it _always_ did— which would leave her with a glorious… seven hours of sleep.

_Score._

That was more than four.

She’d take it.

So long as Emma stayed far away from her bed and didn’t try rattling it at three in the goddamn morning and Ethan crashed on the couch— she wasn’t worried about Paul, he was fine, he could do whatever the fuck it was he got up to doing— it was going to be perfect. 

So long as she was fucking _unconscious,_ it had to be. Opening her eyes once more and flipping onto her back, glancing over at Hannah one more time before a soft smile graced her features, Lex let herself slip under, and the next time she opened her eyes, it was in the kitchen, and she was alone. 

_...when the hell did I get up?_

From the darkness outside and the fact that she was standing in the middle of the kitchen, she was going to go with it being _early_ , though when she looked over to the microwave, internally bracing for the display to read two am or some bullshit like that, there… didn’t look to be any light coming from the display.

_Fuck._

_Power must be out._

The bulb was still intact where it was screwed in over the kitchen table, and there _was_ a faint light cascading in through the windows, though Lex had to put an emphasis on _faint_. It was pretty much nonexistent, and even as she slowly raised her head and tiptoed further into the silent room, her eyes didn’t want to adjust to it, lazy fucking things that they were. 

Whatever. 

Fuck. 

It was… some early ass time in the morning, she was alone in the kitchen, and she was just… hanging out, apparently. Paul and Emma were nowhere to be seen— hell, even _Ethan_ hadn’t butted in, and Hannah must’ve still been asleep. It was a rare morning where she was… by herself. It was almost nice, actually. 

She exhaled. 

It was contented. 

Her eyes had _finally_ started to adjust, and from what she could see, the kitchen was actually somewhat _clean_ — a fucking rarity. They didn’t have many dishes to begin with, but their sink always seemed to be overflowing to an extent. It was almost weird to see it without so much as a discarded spoon sitting in it, not that she was going to complain.

_Can ghosts do dishes?_

_That_ was an entertaining thought, though when she went to try confirming it by opening one of the cupboards…

When the door squeaked open, all it revealed was an empty cabinet.

_...what the fuck?_

That wasn’t right.

She was fairly certain they owned at _least_ four cups, along with like, an abundance of mugs and a couple of plates and bowls— but the emptiness staring back at her left her painfully aware of the fact that that didn’t seem to be the case.

The amount of light seemed to be growing by the second, and as Lex carefully pulled open another drawer— _this one’s empty, too?_ — she turned on a heel and let her eyes drift across the oddly empty, oddly vacant kitchen in a light that seemed to be growing by the second— probably from a passing car. 

...though nobody drove through Hatchetfield at night…

She recognized the sputtering engine a little too quickly. 

Recognized the sound of footsteps on the drive.

The sound of a key in the lock.

_Shit—_

The door swung open with a _crash_ that made Lex’s heart lurch dangerously— _shit_ , where the hell was she supposed to go? She was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a bunch of empty drawers still hanging open around her and nowhere to run— 

She was _fucked_.

Even before her mother stepped into the room, panic coursed through her veins— thick and heavy. The headlights— headlights that had been left on— cast an eerie glow through the kitchen, backlighting her mother and fringing her silhouette with a yellow light as she took a step inside. 

“I—” Lex started, shakily, “—I didn’t think you’d be home so soon—”

“Oh, couldn’t you at least _pretend_ to be happy to see me?”

Her words were slurred.

Heavy.

_Shit. She’s drunk._

Shaking her head quickly, Lex forced another sentence out. “No… n-no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that…”

It never made any difference if she spoke up.

Never had. 

Never would. 

After all, the woman in front of her had never listened, never shown compassion— why would she start now? Frantically stepping backward, trying to put distance between them despite the fact that her legs felt like rubber— bending unnaturally under her weight and leaving her wobbling on the kitchen floor— she fumbled blindly behind her for some sort of weapon on the countertop.

“I don’t think you’re sorry at _all.”_

_Fuck_

_No, no, please no—_

That was a tone of voice she knew well. That was a tone of voice she knew _more_ than well, one that sent her skin crawling on her back. Her fingers were finding only open air. It didn’t even feel like there _was_ a counter there anymore. Just nothing, nothing but a sense of absolute fear, coupled with claustrophobia because despite there being nothing there, she was _still being backed into a corner._

“I— I swear, I— I’ll do better, mom, _please_ , j-just stay there, okay?”

Calling her _mom_ made her stomach turn, but it was something that sometimes worked— something that had saved her from heavier hits in the past. A little sweet talking never did any harm to anything but her pride, and from the look on the drunken woman’s face— _she’s gotta be sloshed_ — it was something that _might_ work.

_God, please, please—_

“Was that supposed to _help_?” The woman in front of her hissed. 

Lex’s stomach turned to ice. 

It didn’t even seem to make her break _stride_.

“Do you really think I _wanted_ a fucking daughter?”

_No._

“I—”

Her hand was trembling. 

She couldn’t find the fucking counter. 

Her breaths were coming sharply, strangling the rest of her sentence like a set of spindly hands on her windpipe, the pressure of their grip only increasing every time she forced herself to inhale. “M-Mom—”

“ _Let alone fucking two of you?”_

She was close enough now that Lex could smell the cheap booze on her breath, close enough for her to make out almost familiar features— warped by bitterness— that the two of them shared. Dark eyes. Long hair, though her mother’s matched Hannah’s— falling in reddish waves over her face, though it looked unwashed. Messy. It hid her face in spots, though it did nothing to take away from the twisted expression she wore as she spat the next sentence at Lex.

 _Literally_ spat it.

A spot of dampness landed on her cheek.

“And that’s _bullshit,_ Alexandra, you _can’t_ do better.” 

She was too close. There was a bottle in her hands, and when she raised it, Lex cowered— raising her hands up to block a blow that she knew was going to come—

It smashed against the side of the counter.

Shards sprayed across her face, prompting a strangled cry from her lips and making her eyes screw tightly shut, though when she opened them again, she…

_What the fuck?_

...wasn’t in the kitchen.

A small part of her doubted she ever had been. 

Queasy, stumbling slightly, trying to catch herself on the edge of a bed— _her_ bed, oh god, she was in her room, it was a dream, she must’ve fallen out of bed— she couldn’t help a choked noise from winding up from her throat. Her legs felt weak. Rubbery, almost— bending unnaturally under her weight and leaving her sinking to the ground in a heap. 

Her fingers twitched, rubbing up against each other and shaking profusely as they did. 

Her heartbeat was too fast. 

Cold sweat dripped down her back.

_It was a dream._

Had to be. 

Just a fucking dream. A nightmare. 

With a sharp exhale that could’ve been mistaken for a laugh, she raised her hands to wipe her eyes, mortified to find them damn near _wet_ — _Jesus, what, are you fucking twelve?_ — she sniffled and sat back against the bedframe behind her, stretching her legs out. 

_It’s okay._

_It’s fine._

Her eyes fell closed again.

They opened again at the sound of a scream.

At the sound of a _familiar_ scream. 

“ _NO! STOP IT! LEMME GO— PLEASE— DIDN’T MEAN IT—”_

Her heart stopped altogether.

_Hannah._

In an instant, she scrambled to her feet, socks skidding on the floor, heartbeat rising above everything else in her ears, save for a pained, raw sounding _wail_ that sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a crash. 

“HANNAH!” 

It tore from her without hesitation.

Her hand found the doorknob in record time, but when she tried to pull it, when she tried to yank the damn thing open, she twisted her wrist to no avail. 

_Locked._

Fuck.

_Fuck._

_“FUCK!”_ Shouting it, voice thick with tears that were starting to form in her eyes— _she’s still screaming, she’s still alive, she’s okay—_ Lex _slammed_ her weight into the door. 

Again, Hannah screamed. 

Louder. 

It seemed so close, the noise ringing through the open air like gunfire, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. 

Again, Lex hit the door.

Harder.

Hard enough that it felt as though her bones were rattling, not that it mattered—

It didn’t budge. 

Gasping, stumbling back with her whole body buzzing from the impact— not that she felt it— she threw herself at the door with another thud. 

On the other side, Hannah’s shouts were growing quieter. 

“ _N-NO— PLEASE—”_

Thud.

“ _D-Don’t— don’t hurt me, don’t—”_

Thud.

The floor seemed slippery. She couldn’t get a good runup. Her feet skidded on the hardwood, legs feeling like they were made of rubber. 

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” She screamed, though her voice felt small— too small to be heard. 

Something on the other side of the door _smashed_ , loudly enough to send an awful cold shooting through Lex’s body, though the crash wasn’t what scared her. It was the fact that Hannah’s screaming had gone quiet. 

_No._

This time, when she flung herself into the door, it was with a guttural wail and as much force as she could muster, and it was met with a splintering _crack_ and the feeling of wood splintering under her weight before the door _finally_ gave way—

She fell through it. 

Fell through it and _kept falling._

A panicky scream tore up from her throat. Flailing in the doorway as she _dropped_ through it and into an all-encompassing darkness, nails scratching uselessly against the wooden doorframe for a few seconds, leaving her looking _up_ into her room before—

She was falling.

Gasping, rolling in the air— hands _frantically_ trying to find _anything_ that would slow her descent, Lex could see the shape of the door disappearing rapidly above her as the darkness surrounding her thickened, hair blowing upward against the momentum as she tumbled down, down, down—

_This isn’t real._

_This can’t be real._

It felt real.

And who the hell was she to say what could be real and what couldn’t be? She believed in ghosts— there was a _demon_ that was _supposed_ to be watching over her—

“PAUL! EMMA!” Her voice came out in a _wail_ , the names leaving her lips almost instinctively as the pair crossed her mind— _where were they?_

Even though she was still falling, still plummeting, she could see her bedroom door, see it high above her even as her clothes were torn at by a wind that kicked up out of nowhere and left her spinning, kicking as though she’d be able to swim against the gravity that had an iron grip on her.

A sound reached her ears. 

A scream. 

Her own. 

There wasn’t an answer. 

The only answer that came was from the darkness around her growing more and more oppressive, filling her eyes— the door having long since disappeared above her—

Something materialized under her feet. 

Gravity changed. 

When she fell again, it was forward, forward onto her hands and knees onto a surface she couldn’t see in a shivering, sweaty mess, and when she tried to stand— something cracked against her back.

Her face connected with the ground. 

Something warm puddled at her side, and when her eyes opened again—

She was back on the kitchen floor.

Her breaths were shallow.

Her vision was cloudy, and as she blinked, doggedly trying to force her eyes open past the thin slits they’d fallen to, she was made aware of a smattering of little red dots speckled across the ground. Just a little spray of them. 

She blinked.

And then she saw something else. Something yellow, or at least, something that had once been yellow, something of—

_No._

_Please, please, god, no, no—_

—Hannah’s.

Hannah, the brilliant, charismatic kid she loved dearly. Hannah, who had once picked up a spider with her bare hands to gently bring into the house with the claim that it was cold. Hannah, who was everything she’d never known she’d needed in a sibling, who had saved her from herself without even knowing what she’d done, who deserved every happiness the world could ever offer—

Lex tried to move. Her limbs were heavy, but she didn’t care, reaching in vain for where her little sister lay. Something red smeared across the floor under her hand, something faintly warm and coppery—

Something leaking from Hannah’s limp shape. 

Something that had stained her flannel a dark, ugly crimson. 

“Han—”

She was interrupted by something pressing down between her shoulderblades with enough force to steal the little breath she’d managed to gain, not that it mattered, because Hannah wasn’t breathing. 

The more she looked at it, the worse it was.

Hannah’s eyes were open wide. 

So was her head.

Caved in from the back with bits of glass scattered around where her hair had once been, Lex felt a rush of bile rising in her throat at the sight of bone peering out from the mangled flesh of her sister’s head, blood still pouring thickly from the wound. Her side was torn, torn and oozing—

_Stop looking._

—oozing a mess of what could’ve been intestine from a fractured ribcage and a mess of shredded muscle and torn skin, more glass jutting from the jagged wound. It looked like someone had taken _scissors_ to her, tearing right through her prized flannel all the way into her fucking lungs and twisted the mess around before pulling it out to decorate the floor, but the part that made Lex want to vomit was the fact that Hannah’s hand was still clutching something.

A pencil.

A pencil alongside a crumpled drawing, the paper peering out from her fingers already soaked through with red.

“ _Hannah.”_

The word came out in a sob. 

A voice addressed her, then. One thick with alcohol and one that made her frantically try to reach her sister— arms slipping in the puddle that seemed to be growing by the second, though the pressure on her back only intensified from there to a point where Lex heard something crack— a rib.

“...did you really think you could save her?” 

“H-Hannah—” she managed to gasp despite the fact that her oxygen was running thin. 

_Fuck,_ why were they alone— she needed to be in a hospital, she needed help, she— she was _dying_ , she was going to _fucking die—_

Her body shuddered from the effort of trying to crawl forward. “ _Paul_ ,” she choked, “E-Emma—”

Her arms gave way under a swift kick, but before that last bit of strength left her, Lex balled her hands into fists and cried out for the one person who was supposed to save them both.

“ _ETHAN!”_

From in front of her, a voice broke the silence. 

“Lex, hey, e-easy—” 

Something grabbed her arm.

Her eyes flew open. 

Gasping, shooting upright in bed with sweat clinging to her and her whole body shaking like a leaf, Lex instantly withdrew from whatever had a hold on her, unable to keep her chest from rising and falling rapidly, though when she finally managed to _look_ at who the hell had spoken— overwhelmed, confused, and above all else— _scared_ — Lex did the only thing she could think to do before Ethan managed to finish his sentence. 

Without a moment of hesitation, the older Foster slumped into his arms, wrapped her arms tight around his shape, and let out a shaky sob into his shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to make Hannah Foster a personal apology. Legally, she can kill me in one hit.


	19. we only have each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attack, nightmare descriptions, Lex Foster is cuh-RYING in here!  
> Also, in the comments, could y'all leave your opinions on me including content from Nightmare Time? There are a couple of characters that could be really interesting to insert to an extent, but if there are any of you that haven't seen the new content and have been enjoying the fic, I can absolutely hold off from that!

He’d started thinking about Lex about fifteen minutes after she’d left the table, which was more than a little bit weird, if he was being completely fucking honest with himself. After all, there were plenty of other things he could’ve been thinking of that didn’t have anything to do with the person who’d gleefully kicked his ass at a game of Clue—

_ Lex. _

—his tail thrashed. The end of it clipped against the table’s legs. 

“...seriously have no idea who the fuck designed this thing?” he grumbled, turning his attention to the board still set up on the table— halfway folded by Paul, who was the only one out of the three of them doing so much as making an effort to clean up the board. 

Half of the pieces had slipped through his fingers. 

Most of them had been picked up more than once— and to her credit, Emma  _ had _ tried to help for about three minutes before deeming it a lost cause and stealing Lex’s chair for her own—

_ Lex. _

Something twinged at the back of his mind.

His stomach twisted.

Automatically, his lips pulled slightly back. 

Again, his tail cracked against the table. 

One of the pieces Paul had been trying to scoop into his hands tipped on its side and rolled off the edge of the table in a matter of seconds, and when Paul tried to catch it—

It phased through his palm.

Ethan snorted. 

Emma managed an almost sympathetic look, though when Ethan’s gaze shot to her, she was muffling a laugh behind her hand in a way that looked almost like how Lex did whenever she was trying to hold herself back from snickering at one of his shitty jokes—

_ Fuck,  _ there he was, thinking about Lex again. 

_ What the fuck is that about? _

Sure, he thought about her  _ sometimes _ , but the fact that there was a little voice in his head aggressively prodding him about her was enough to make him flick his tail again, this time, swinging it directly though Paul’s arm with enough force to make the ghost in question give a yelp and withdraw—

“It didn’t even  _ touch _ you!” Ethan protested before Paul could even get a word in edgewise. 

“I’m trying to clean up the game,” Paul pointed out.

“Yeah, well  _ I’m _ getting ignored— who the  _ fuck _ decided that  _ this  _ is what a mansion looks like?” Gesturing again to the board, a little more violently this time as though that would help him show off the sheer  _ fuckery _ that some graphic artist had gotten away with, he shot Emma a look. 

“I dunno,” she mused, smirking softly, “blame the fucks working for Hasbro I guess— or maybe like, poor people?”

“ _ Emma—” _

“ _ What?  _ It’s kinda true— I mean, shit, they probably didn’t  _ start _ rich, right? And  _ I’ve _ never been in a  _ mansion _ —  _ probably because I’m poor!” _

At the exasperated look that flitted across Paul’s face, Ethan snorted and leaned back a little in his chair. “Yeah, hey, that fuckin’ makes sense!” 

“ _ Hasbro _ ,” Paul cut in, finally managing to pick up the piece that had dropped.

A purple one.

Lex’s piece.

Lex—

_ Fucking quit it. _

“—is a multi-million dollar company, Em.”

Focusing on Paul’s words, forcing himself to nod at the same time Emma gave a scoff and rolled her eyes, Ethan flicked his tail up into his lap and grabbed onto the end, twining the black scales between his fingers. They were small. Small enough that even as he fidgeted and dug his fingers into the spots between the scales, he couldn’t find a spot to pick them off, instead, scraping the little circles with the sharp points of his claws as the verbal sparring match continued. 

“So there could actually  _ be _ houses that look like that belonging to some idiots from Hasbro?”

Paul paused. 

Holding the purple piece—

_ Lex’s _ —

—his eyebrows scrunched together a little before he dropped it into the box and turned his attention to picking up the metal weapon pieces, seemingly struggling to keep a straight face. 

“...I don’t like that,” he finally mumbled. “Can’t we just play a board game  _ normally _ ? And enjoy it?”

“I enjoyed it!” Ethan piped, swinging his weight back and pulling his legs up onto the table— sending another piece skittering to the floor. This time, it was a tiny piece of pipe, one that made Ethan snort. “But it… kinda doesn’t make sense.”

“ _ See!”  _ Throwing her hands out at her sides as Paul once again bent down to grab a piece, she shot Ethan a grin— a genuine  _ smile _ that caught him off guard. 

_ What the fuck? _

Since when had Emma Perkins been  _ friendly? _

_ Did something change? _

They hadn’t really crossed paths before they’d been all but forced together— he  _ vaguely _ remembered having seen her at that shitty coffee shop Oliver liked so much— and it wasn’t like he actually  _ had _ anything against her from when he’d been alive. She’d just been some other Hatchetfield rando as far as he was concerned— and even now, he  _ really _ didn’t have much reason to hate her. 

He had reasons to  _ dislike her _ — fucking  _ plenty _ — but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t muster up a proper, genuine  _ hatred _ for the ghost currently sitting in Lex’s chair—

_ Lex. _

—thanks to the fact that he just… didn’t  _ have _ one. 

_ Yeah _ , she was kind of sarcastic and a little rough around the edges— but in all fairness, she had  _ also  _ died for… no fucking reason, if what Lex had said was anything to go on. Just random chance, really— both her and Paul’s deaths were honestly pretty tragic, and although she  _ was _ a little hostile when talking to him, she… was tolerable. 

Tolerable and kind of understandable, seeing as he wasn’t exactly  _ nice _ to her, either. 

Honestly, it’d be easier to hate her if she wasn’t  _ actually  _ funny.

Unable to keep a matching smirk from falling onto his face, Ethan gave a sharp nod in response to her words and held a little tighter to his tail to keep it from flicking. 

The knot in his stomach was growing tighter. Twisting, if only slightly, and for some fucking reason, there was a small pressure forming in the back of his mind, one that prodded and poked damn relentlessly at his mind and made his jaw twitch even as he tried to give a laugh. 

“It’s kind of fuckin’ weird to think about it, when you really get down to it— I mean, isn’t this whole thing takin’ place at a dinner party or some shit like that?” Squinting down at the board and cocking his head slightly, Ethan leaned forward a little— still keeping his legs crossed at the ankle and propped on the table. “An’ I’m supposed to believe that some fuckin’  _ twink _ would be able to grab a what—”

His gaze fell to the box.

“— _ lead pipe _ and haul it  _ all the way through the—” _

Slamming her hand down on the table, Emma nodded rigorously “THROUGH THE COURTYARD, YEAH!”

“ _ Guys _ ,” Paul scolded, clear exasperation in his voice— like a dad on his last fucking limbs at a family reunion, “ _ Hannah is sleeping and so is Lex!” _

It happened in an instant.

Ethan barely had time to process the words Paul had said before a ripping, awful  _ pain _ shot through the back of his mind— the sharp mental prods turning to a full  _ stabbing _ that left him wobbling, tipping backward—  _ falling— _

His wings couldn’t save him. 

All they did was knock the box Paul had been setting the pieces in off the table and onto the floor with a thump, and when his tail shot from his grasp, the pointed end  _ sliced _ through the surface of his hand effortlessly, digging in  _ deep _ .

He didn’t feel it.

All he felt was a throbbing in his head and a slick sheen building on his forehead and palms, along with that knot in his stomach creeping up into his throat, strangling any noise he would’ve even  _ tried _ to make as his back connected with the floor—

_ Lex. _

It felt like a brick had just been dropped on his middle. Unable to do so much as inhale, head bouncing just slightly when it cracked against the ground with his horns clipping the counter, Ethan gave a sharp gasp and tried to get to his feet, ending up stumbling  _ through  _ Emma in his haste to stand. 

“Hey, Ethan, what the—”

“ _ Lex—” _

The word came out in a shaky wheeze. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

Barely even hearing the words of the two ghosts as he scrambled upright, clutching the counter for balance, eyes wild and chest heaving— for fuck’s sake, he was in  _ pain _ , genuine, actual  _ pain _ for the first time since he’d died, and not from the gash on his hand—

“Ethan, hey,  _ hey _ —” 

His gaze snapped to Emma’s. 

Her waist had phased partly through the table separating them, and although her hands were outstretched, it seemed hesitant— like he could recoil and attack if he did so much as breathe funny in her direction, which was stupid, because it felt like there were a set of spindly hands closing around his windpipe and  _ squeezing,  _ squeezing with the intent to fucking choke him out in the kitchen of a shitty trailer house—

“—what’s wrong?”

His legs wobbled when he stepped back. His wings shuddered, twitching uncontrollably, and his tail—  _ his fucking tail _ — wouldn’t stop whipping back and forth, knocking repeatedly against the counter’s side. 

“I d-don’t—”

_ Lex.  _

His chest seized, and not in a good way, either— one that made it feel like his ribs were trying to twist inward and puncture his fucking lungs— his whole body all but folding in half, the hands that had once been at his throat moving to cling to his sides.

“—I don’t  _ know,  _ I— L-Lex, she—”

Another strain wracked his body like a baseball bat to the gut. 

_ Lex.  _

_ Go to her. _

_ She’s hurt, she’s hurt, she’s hurt, she’s— _

His body moved without his permission. In a mess of limbs, tail whipping behind him and palm itching, he stumbled toward the hall— and only after it had passed did he even register the fact that a  _ sound _ had torn up from the darkness there. 

Just one word. 

A name.

_ His _ name.

His name being shouted by  _ Lex. _

“What the fuck was—”

He didn’t hear the rest of Emma’s sentence. Already, he was at the door, claws scrabbling at the knob momentarily before he managed to grab it and throw it open, leaving him standing frozen in the doorway with nausea twisting in his stomach and his hands sweating. 

For a moment, he couldn’t tell that anything was wrong. 

There was moonlight filtering in through the slightly-parted curtains of the window, and in the thin beam, he could make out Hannah’s sleeping shape in the small cot she called her own, burrowed in a heavy blanket and out like a light. Her hair was still braided— splayed out around her in an almost circular shape around her head, looking like a  _ halo _ , not that he really looked at it—

“Lex?” He whispered into the dark.

The only response he got came in a whimper, and when his gaze snapped to Lex’s ratty mattress—

The first thing he noticed was her expression.

One of absolute  _ terror _ . 

Eyes screwed shut, sweat glistening on her forehead, brows drawn together and lips parted slightly to allow for her own frantic heaves, the teen on the bed looked as though she was being pinned down by some invisible force, chest  _ heaving  _ under the force of her raspy breathing. The blanket draped over her wasn’t doing anything to hide the twitching, either, rustling as she shook and tossed her head back and forth at a speed that made it look like she was trying to break her neck or give herself whiplash. 

“...Lex?” 

A whine tore up from her throat. 

Her lips twitched. It looked as though she was trying to form words— trying as hard as she could to get them out— but the only noises that left her lips were garbled whimpers and twisted, broken syllables that didn’t quite line up— maybe names— an absolute mess that only seemed to be growing louder.

_ “M’sorry.” _

Louder.

_ “M’so sorry.” _

Louder.

_ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m SORRY—” _

“ _ Shit,  _ Lex, hey,  _ hey—” _

He didn’t know why he reached for her. Didn’t know why his hand moved on its own and wrapped tightly around her shoulder, squeezing tightly— leaving the one without the glove free to drag through his hair. 

“—Lex, hey, e-easy—”

Her eyes snapped open. 

The shaky sound of her breathing came to a shuddering stop, and when her gaze connected with his own, the first thing he saw in it was  _ fear, _ followed by confusion, then realization, and then—

Without so much as a warning, without so much as a  _ second _ of proper hesitation, her arms wrapped tightly around him and squeezed. 

A sound escaped him, then. 

One that  _ should’ve  _ been a fucking growl— here he was, a demon, with a weak, half asleep teenager clinging through him, he should’ve fucking growled and relished in her terror—

_ “Lex?” _

His voice cracked. 

Not the most intimidating noise, but in his defence, what the fuck else was he supposed to do? She’d been so damn opposed to touching him for the past  _ week _ — and now that she  _ was _ , there was an undeniable surge that passed through him like lightning, though it paled in comparison to the pain in his head worsening to a point where it felt like some crackhead had taken a baseball bat to his skull. 

_ What the fuck? _

What the fuck was this about? 

What had changed? Why was she—

Her grip on him tightened to a point where even though his thick jacket, he could feel her limbs trembling. 

Something wet dripped down the collar of his jacket. Something warm. 

His shoulders stiffened.

_ Is she crying? _

Shifting a little, caught somewhere between sitting and standing— crouching like a fucking goblin with his wings flared open in surprise, Ethan slowly took a breath in before attempting to speak, barely raising his voice above a whisper. 

“...Lex?” He tried again, a little softer. 

A hiccup was all he got in response. 

Her arms shifted slightly on his back, hands locking together just between his shoulderblades, and as Ethan took a moment to listen, he was vaguely aware of the faint, wracking  _ sobs _ tearing up from her throat, muffled against his leather jacket. She was shaking, too, right to her core, shaking from the force of her own ragged breaths. 

“H-Hey, Lex,” he prompted, awkwardly easing himself to sit down next to her without pulling her arms free— which was a fucking herculean feat. “Easy— a-are you okay?” 

On his shoulder, her head shook, cheek dragging across his jacket and the star-shaped buttons there. 

“...okay, takin’ that as a  _ no _ , that’s fine, I can work with that.”

...probably. 

_ Fuck _ , he wasn’t a life coach— he was a fucking  _ demon _ , he wasn’t supposed to be trying to help her. Hell, he probably should’ve been  _ enjoying _ this. After all, his charge was a shaking wreck in his arms, she was  _ in contact  _ with him and giving him that sweet, sweet contact high on a  _ completely _ different level than holding hands ever did, but even though she  _ was _ giving him that fucking feeling, it was only making him more aware that his heartbeat was too fast.

Panicky.

Sporadic. 

His blood was practically buzzing in his veins, and when he breathed in, his lungs felt like they were shuddering despite the fact that he wasn’t the one with tears streaking down his face. 

Her breath was hot on the side of his neck, hot and almost  _ damp _ , which was fucking gross, but true, thanks to how hard she was crying— heaving to a point where her breath whistled in her throat. 

“...Lex?” He tried, gingerly setting a hand on her shoulder. “You— hey, you ain’t dead, yet, don’t you gotta breathe?” 

A sharp exhale blew across the side of his neck, one he could almost mistake as a laugh, albeit, one that quivered and sounded like it belonged to some poor creature that was getting strangled, and to an extent, he  _ understood.  _

Only because he was feeling it too. 

Not to a point where it was sending  _ him _ into a full panic or anything like that, but to enough of a point to quell that itch in the back of his mind that had all but forced him into her bedroom— enough to let him know that for  _ whatever fucking reason,  _ the two of them had an actual fucking  _ link _ that had  _ bullied him into making a break for her room— _

_ The contract. _

Fuck. 

Right. 

He was  _ supposed  _ to protect her, though as he carefully gathered up more of her in his arms, trying his best not to snag his claws on her hair or her shirt which was a fucking  _ challenge _ , thanks to her hair hanging down and her shirt being  _ more _ than a little bit too big for her— definitely a goodwill find. 

_ Instead _ of protecting her, he’d fucking ignored that voice in his head and just fucked with Paul and Emma, which he was  _ starting _ to realize was a fucking awful move, because this was  _ bad _ . 

Like,  _ really _ bad. 

_...where even are they— _

“I—” Lex started, voice thin. 

Any urge to turn around and look at the door where he could practically  _ feel _ them both hovering left him the second Lex spoke up. 

Fuck it.

He could worry about them later. 

The person he had to worry about  _ now _ was looking him in the eyes. 

“I— I thought you weren’t g-gonna—”

She cut herself off with another frantic wheeze that left him with too-tight lungs and his tail thrashing, skittering across the floor like something with a mind of its own. 

_ Fuck. _

Not sure where the boundaries were— not sure if there even fucking  _ were _ any at the moment— Ethan trailed a hand down her arm in a quick motion and squeezed at her hand. 

“Hey, e-easy, I— I’m here, okay?”

“I d-didn’t think you’d come— I th-thought—  _ fuck _ , I— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be—”

She cut herself off by inhaling sharply and squeezing him tighter— nails digging into the jacket to a point where he could  _ hear _ the stiff material creaking— before she suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing and jerked away in a rush, hands landing on the bed beside her with twin thuds. 

“—I— I’m sorry,” she started again.

Her voice was too high, something that bordered on shrill, and while it  _ would’ve  _ been funny in pretty much any other circumstance, Ethan didn’t feel like laughing as she shakily tried to wipe at her eyes and only ended up sniffling into the heel of her hand. Her hair fell over her eyes, halfway hiding them— hiding that hurt, that panic, that raw  _ emotion _ behind a curtain of soft brown waves, and even with her face hidden, he could still see her shoulders shaking from her sobs. 

Still hear the way her breath hitched. 

The way her voice cracked when she forced herself to use it. “I— really— I didn’t— I didn’t mean it, I didn’t…” 

“ _ Lex _ ,” he cut her off, scooting a little closer to her on the bed as she drew away, “ _ hey _ — it’s alright, b-but what the fuck happened?” 

When she dragged her nails through her hair, the movement was shaky, and more than that,  _ harsh. _

She didn’t look like Lex Foster. 

She looked small. 

Pathetically small. 

Small, shaken, and above all that—  _ tired _ . 

More than tired, if he was being honest— she looked like she’d spent three consecutive nights staying up watching shitty horror films and crying over the endings. Fucking  _ exhausted _ was a better term. 

Her eyes were still glistening as they met his own, and beneath them, dark circles that looked to be a little more than old makeup stood out on her skin— heavy, sagging things, and the fact that her face was a blotchy red didn’t help her case in the slightest. 

He couldn’t hold her gaze. 

Glancing down at his lap, he carefully brought his hands to rest on his knees and drummed them on his knees. 

“...gonna answer that?”

A sniffle. 

“Wh-What?” 

His tail twitched. “Like, the question— I mean, jesus, you just mentally hit me with a fucking  _ baseball bat _ — what the hell? An’ don’t try to bullshit me, Lex, I know somethin’ must’ve fuckin’ happened— are you hurt?” 

She didn’t  _ look  _ hurt. 

Lex didn’t seem like the type to display that she was in pain or anything like that, and when he glanced back up at her, she was shaking her head, but the movement was a little too jerky to be genuine, and the fact that it was coupled with a shaky sob  _ really _ didn’t help her case in convincing him that she was fine. 

His lips twitched into a frown. 

“...so you ain’t hurt… fish…”

_ Fuck. _

Damn it, why did words have to be so hard? 

Rapping his claws a little harder against the denim of his jeans, Ethan blew out a sharp breath through his teeth and wrinkled his nose. “Fuckin’... fish-icky? Some shit like that—”

“Physically,” Lex corrected, voice scarcely above a whisper. 

_ Ha. _

_ Okay. _

_ Can’t be that bad if she’s correcting me. _

He could work with that. 

Nodding and flashing her a grin, tail swaying just a little harder, Ethan repositioned how he was sitting— moving just a little closer. “Yeah, that’s the one—  _ physically _ , you’re fine, what about the other one?” 

_ Nightmare, maybe? _

That’d make the most sense, and when Lex averted her eyes and tugged a little at the blanket bunched up beneath her, he was  _ fairly  _ certain that was what had happened. 

Her voice was heavy. 

Thick. 

“...it was just a dream.”

_ Nightmare. _

He kept the correction to himself. It didn’t seem like the time. Trying for a cheap laugh by stumbling over the word physical had been one thing, but she looked like she was  _ barely  _ holding herself together from a full breakdown, and as much as he wasn’t  _ supposed _ to want to help… wasn’t it  _ also _ his job to keep her safe? To protect her?

Lowering his head just slightly, he couldn’t keep a concerned expression from flitting across his face in a silent prompt.

Lex’s breath shuddered. “...just a fucking dream, b-but I thought it had ended, and then Hannah—  _ H-Hannah— _ sh-she— she was—“

Her lip quivered, and when she breathed in once more, it was too short— broken by an exhale that sounded like someone had punched her in the stomach. The sounds only got worse from there, breaking into a mess of panicky, rasping breaths—

His hand moved automatically to rest on hers.

She didn’t pull away. 

It didn’t look like she’d be able to. 

“Y’know what— forget the details. Breathe.”

“—it was Hannah,” she tried again to say, though Ethan cut her off with a sharp sigh. 

“Hey,  _ Lex,  _ you ain’t breathin’ if you’re talking— here, with me, okay?” 

He didn’t give her a chance to respond.

Instead, slowly took a breath in and lowered his head to a point where his horns nearly brushed against her forehead in an attempt to make eye contact. “In,” he prompted, gently, squeezing at her fingers in an attempt to coax her into inhaling. “C’mon, I know ya can.”

She did.

It was wheezy. 

Shaking. Quivering. 

_ Good enough. _

“Now out.”

She followed his lead.

The tightness in his chest decreased. 

“In,” he repeated before pressing his shoulder to hers and breathing deeply— clear exaggeration in his intake. As much as he thought the fact that he still even  _ had _ to breathe was fucking weird and a waste of space where he could’ve had fucked up demon organs or something like that— whatever the hell that would even mean— as he blew out a breath in time with Lex and felt her moving her fingers under his hand to return the soft squeeze, her nails digging deep into his skin. 

Time passed slowly. 

It was marked only by Lex shakily breathing and the feeling of his heart rate slowly, slowly coming back down to one he recognized as almost normal— the steady, two-beat pulse’s rapid tempo changing to one that was far more gentle. 

Her breath didn’t whistle.

_ In.  _

Her grip on his hand loosened. 

_ Out. _

With a flick of his tail, he met her eyes again. “Look at you!” He praised.

A soft wheeze escaped her in response. Moving her hand away from his and causing his heart to stop abruptly in his chest, she wiped at her eyes and sniffled. “Oh, yeah,” she agreed, sarcasm dripping from her words, “cryin’ in my bedroom.”

Shifting his hands, Ethan shrugged. “Yeah, and you’re a natural.”

The joke slipped out before he could stop it. 

For a second, he thought he’d crossed a line. 

Across from him, Lex tensed right back up, though before he could try to find an apology—

A wet laugh broke the silence. 

“Shut up,” she huffed out, “ _ god _ , it’s not the fucking time for jokes—”

“You’re laughing, though!” Shifting, swinging his legs up onto the bed and folding them up neatly with his tail in his lap, Ethan leaned forward a little and flared his wings outward— looking more like an overenthusiastic kid at a slumber party than a demon.

Not that most slumber parties had people crying at them. 

Or that Ethan had attended all that many. 

...or that people  _ hadn’t  _ cried at those ones he’d gone to, after shots had been downed and punches thrown, and the more he thought about it, the more it wasn’t  _ actually _ a sleepover party, it was just one of those parties where he’d been woken up by a very hungover Deb on some stranger’s couch— so  _ technically _ , he’d slept over, but he hadn’t fucking enjoyed it. 

Didn’t remember much from them, either— both from the booze and the fact that his head probably looked like swiss cheese on the inside thanks to how much information he’d lost after eating shit and dying in a fucking filthy mall. 

In  _ Hatchetfield. _

Gross. 

The sound of Lex sniffling again brought him out of his thoughts. 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” she grumbled, “‘cause I don’t know how the fuck  _ else  _ to respond, I… I can’t…  _ fuck _ , I’m sorry.”

She withdrew. 

Her hands weren’t shaking where they clutched her bedsheets, not anymore, and his head didn’t feel like a blender on high speed, but there was still a too-tight feeling that knotted in his stomach, twisting tighter and tighter by the second. 

“...bullshit,” he murmured. 

Another heavy laugh escaped her throat. “Do you not  _ want _ me to be fine? ‘Cause you’re a demon or whatever—”

“ _ No! _ I’m s’posed to protect you, Lex, that’s like, the whole  _ deal _ .” Lowering his head and spreading his hands, Ethan coiled his tail loosely around his forearm. “An’ that’s without talking about the fact that you like,  _ destroyed _ my head with that nightmare, so thanks for that.”

Her breath hitched. In the darkness, her face turned a shade paler, the ambient light from outside reflecting off her eyes that had widened exponentially. “You saw that?”

_ Fuck. _

_ It must’ve been really bad. _

With a shake of his head, he raised his hands. 

“No, n-no, just… fuck,  _ felt _ it, I guess? Little bit after you left, like someone was poking me in the fuckin’ brain with a stick.”

“...didn’t know you had one of those.”

This time, it was Ethan’s turn to give an out of place laugh and roll his eyes. “Hey, might’a died alone, but I didn’t fuckin’ get much chance to decay. More than enough left in there t’make sure you’re doing okay.” 

The soft smile that had been tentatively curling across her lips faltered.

The tightness in his chest increased. 

“...Lex?”

Slowly, she scratched at her arm. Looked away. 

Her fingers dug slightly into her mattress, and when she shifted her weight, the old bedsprings creaked in a way that left him almost painfully aware of the heavy silence that clung to the two of them. 

_ Technically _ he’d done his job.

_ Technically _ , she was fine.

“...Foster?” He tried again, moving one of his hands to rest back atop hers, heart stirring in his chest at the sensation. “What, cat got your tongue?”

She didn’t laugh this time. 

She  _ also _ didn’t pull away, which was a huge plus in Ethan’s opinion, but the fact that it looked like she  _ wanted  _ to didn’t really help things. Subconsciously, he tightened his grip just a smidge. 

Her fingers twitched. “I just… I mean, it wasn’t fucking  _ real _ or anything— just a fucking nightmare, but I can’t… I can’t stop  _ thinking _ about it, it… it was just…”

Her grip tightened on the bedsheets beneath her. 

When she laughed again, it was a little thicker sounding, bordering on a choke. “I just… I c-can’t stop thinking about how fucking… her  _ screams,  _ they were just— they were  _ so loud.” _

She shook slightly in place. 

Ethan scooted a little closer. “Hannah’s fine,” he soothed as best he could, “and hey— if it makes you feel any better, you’re awake now. This is real, okay? That shit  _ wasn’t.” _

He squeezed her hand.

Her features pulled into a wince. 

“...but it  _ could’ve _ been!” Raising her voice to a point where it broke, Lex tugged at her hair. “It— it’s happened before, H-Hannah screaming, a-and I was— I was  _ here _ , but this time, I— I couldn’t get to her, th-the door was stuck, and her screaming… it— it was like she was being  _ killed _ , and I  _ tried _ to get to her, I— I tried  _ so fucking hard _ , but when I got there, sh-she—”

Her face crumpled. 

When she broke into a sob, he didn’t hesitate before slipping into place beside her and wrapping his arms tight around her— her small, shaking form fitting in place against his chest. It was an awkward fit, and his wings didn’t exactly make it easier, either— the red membranes stretching out almost unnaturally in an attempt to curl around her more completely— but he couldn’t have given less of a shit, because Lex was crying into his shoulder and squeezing him so tight that his ribs threatened to snap. 

She was warm.

Sweaty.

Sniffling. 

Although the embrace was stiff on his end, after a few seconds of processing that she hadn’t jerked away, slowly, shakily, he leaned into it and pressed his face against the crook of her neck, pulling her closer still. 

“Hey, easy.” 

_ God _ , he felt like a broken record. Voice turning soft in what he hoped was a soothing sort of tone, Ethan gently rubbed her back. “You don’t gotta talk about it.”

She looked so  _ different  _ than how he remembered her. Even though she’d been tired at the table, it had been a  _ thousand fucking times  _ better than the trembling, crying person in his arms. Her words were muffled slightly by the collar of his jacket. Her breath ghosted across the side of his neck.

“I couldn’t… couldn’t g-get to her.”

His other wing folded around her. The membranes stretched, cocooning over her shape with ease, and as he carefully adjusted how he was sitting, trying not to pay attention to the fact that she was practically sitting  _ on _ him, trying not to focus on the fact that her hair was mussed and soft against his cheek thanks to how she was holding onto him, trying  _ so _ hard not to focus on the fact that warmth was spreading through his chest and causing his heart to thud a little harder than usual, he gently ran his fingers over the back of her shirt. 

“Yeah, well that was because your fuckin’ head decided to mess with you.”

“She— she was  _ screaming _ , a-and it just got worse and worse, before it just  _ stopped—” _

When her voice broke again, Ethan was quick to rub at her back. The action wasn’t exactly  _ perfect _ or anything— he wasn’t someone who was  _ used _ to being a comfort, this felt fucking weird as hell— but as he clutched the shivering human tighter, he was made aware of the fact that he just… didn’t care. “Lex, it’s  _ not _ real—  _ look.” _

Slowly, Lex obeyed. 

Ethan lowered his wing to allow her to glance over his shoulder at where Hannah was peacefully dreaming, though he kept his hands pressed firmly against her back, firmly enough that his claws threatened to tear through her shirt.

It would be easy to—

_ No. _

His eyes fell shut momentarily. 

For a few seconds, Lex’s breath wasn’t the only thing shuddering. On her back, his hands stiffened. Froze. 

_ Don’t think like that. _

Some protector he was. 

He squeezed her a little tighter. 

“...it’s okay,” he murmured again as his tail moved to coil neatly around her torso, “H-Hannah’s okay, too, alright? I dunno what th’ fuck happened, but she ain’t screamin’. Never was.”

Silence fell between them. One that was almost comfortable. As Ethan’s shoulders rose and fell with even breaths and that awful tension in his chest drained away and Lex slowly relaxed more and more to a point where he could feel his own body relaxing— his sluggish heartbeat keeping time with a soft thud every few seconds— he could feel her pulling away. He didn’t bother fighting it.

A small part of him almost wanted to, and it wanted to even more when she broke eye contact and dragged her fingers through her hair with a quiet sigh. 

“...sorry. I fuckin’... sorry I’m such a mess, I j-just thought… I didn’t think I was actually  _ talking _ .”

Ethan gave a soft laugh. His tail stayed coiled loosely around her back, warmed by the life that she still carried— even with tear tracts drying on her face and one hand trying in vain to wipe them away. 

“Don’t apologize— no harm done,” he promised, “cut my hand open real bad when you did your whole thing, but other than that— no big deal.”

Lex’s eyebrows raised. “You cut your hand?”

Ethan shrugged. His wings unfurled from where they had been draped over her. “Can’t feel pain anymore,” he explained, “ain’t a big deal— already mostly closed up, see?”

Lifting the hand without the glove and showing her his palm, he ignored the soft itch that came along with skin and muscle knitting itself together. It was weird to watch. Something he’d grown used to, admittedly, but weird all the same— and in the dim light, it seemed pretty damn eerie. Where there should’ve been blood, only frayed muscle shone in the moonlight, slightly damp from being his  _ fucking insides _ or whatever, but with every second that passed, more and more of the gash was closing over with pale skin. 

“...that’s kind of fucking gross,” Lex commented.

“You totally want to poke it though, don’t you?”

“I mean— kinda?”

She didn’t. It wasn’t like he was really expecting her to stick her fingers into a gaping wound or anything like that— though her hand  _ did _ twitch enough at her side to make a smile flit across his lips before he set his hand back down at his side and leaned back. 

The situation was finally setting in, and now that reality was staring him in the face in the form of a watery-eyed Lex Foster, it was… something. 

Not exactly something expected, though he had to admit, it  _ definitely _ wasn’t something  _ bad.  _ Just something a little different. 

Pulling his legs up onto the beds and crossing them, Ethan drummed his claws on his knees and let his tail gently pull back into his lap— though the loss of warmth from Lex’s presence and the feeling of his heart stopping mid-pump was one that made his stomach turn. 

_...fuck, this is awkward.  _

Now that the moment had passed and the throbbing in his skull had fizzled out, Ethan was stuck, sitting cross-legged on her bed with a faint itching on his palm and a sudden urge to look away. 

_...am I supposed to leave? _

But what if she had another fucking nightmare and he just ended up at her side again— hovering over her bed like a fucking goblin and shaking her awake once more with Paul and Emma—

_ Fuck. _

_ Paul and Emma. _

Automatically, his gaze shot to the door, though they weren’t… there. 

The half-open doorway was vacant of any ghosts, which wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting— they’d been  _ right _ on his ass when he’d sprang up and practically shot himself down the hallway, where the hell had they gone?

_ Must’ve left.  _

Must’ve left him alone with Lex. 

_...weird. _

He didn’t dwell on it. 

Sitting up a little straighter and giving a gentle sigh, Ethan raised his gloved hand and scratched just behind one of his horns. “...so, I…”

_ Shit, this is awkward. _

It only got more fucking awkward when her eyes met his, causing him to shift somewhat uncomfortably where he was sitting and dig his claws just a little into the bed beneath him, head tilted just a little to the side.

See, this was the part where he was probably  _ supposed _ to leave. 

He was  _ supposed _ to say some shit about leaving her to sleep, make a dumb joke about how she was sweating so much, and then call it a fucking night, but the sentence that spilled from his mouth—

“Fuckin’ shove over, Foster.”

—wasn’t that at all, and from the way her expression shifted from something somber to something absolutely fucking incredulous was enough to tell him that it wasn’t what she’d been expecting, either. 

“What?” 

_ Fuck it.  _

_ Whatever.  _

_ Go for it. _

Just to mooch off her energy a little longer. 

Shooting her a wide grin and moving so he was sitting  _ beside _ her rather than  _ across from  _ her, Ethan slung a wing around her shoulders in what he hoped came off as a joking manner. “I  _ said _ ,” he started again, bumping their shoulders together before laying down on her bed— may as well enjoy it before she threw him out, “shove over. Gotta make sure you’re okay through th’ night, don’t I?”

Lex’s nose wrinkled. Her eyebrows raised, and they only crept higher when Ethan patted the spot beside him on the thin membrane of his wing, the black joints all twitching invitingly like beckoning fingers.

“... _ what? _ ” 

“C’mon, it’ll be like a sleepover!”

A grin settled on his face. At his side, his tail lashed, albeit, expectantly rather than agitatedly as she sniffled one more time and rubbed the heels of her hands against her bleary eyes. 

_ She’s totally gonna say no. _

_ Absolutely. _

Sleeping after a nightmare was one thing, but sleeping next to  _ him  _ after a nightmare that he was  _ probably  _ involved in, if her shouting his name at the top of her lungs was any indication— she was going to send him on his way, and that was fine.

But still, he let himself get comfortable on the bed for a minute. With one wing splayed open and one curled neatly over himself like a blanket, he watched her closely.

Watched as she bit her lip.

Watched as she moved to say something before cutting herself off, and then…

_ Oh. Shit. _

Watched as she slowly lowered herself to lay on his wing and felt the stiffness of her shape next to his own.

“ _ Fine,”  _ she huffed, a jolt of warmth shooting through him the second her back hit the half-folded appendage, “you know what— I’m too tired to fucking argue with you about this.” 

Her body was shaking again.

Hard enough that it made his wing shiver against the sensation and curl lightly around her side as she settled next to him and shakily breathed in— hard enough that he could feel that tightness rising in his chest again like someone was squishing his rib cage.

_ She’s not okay. _

He almost wanted to press her on it. The fact that she was willing to just fucking sleep next to him was something that was raising a  _ shitload _ of red flags, but Ethan brushed it off when she moved to speak again. 

“Stay on your side. Bed’s small, a-and if you try  _ anything—“ _

A scoff wound up from Ethan’s throat. “What kind of fucking protector would I be if I  _ did?”  _ He asked in response. “I may be dead as shit, but I still have  _ standards,  _ Lexie.”

“ _ Lex.” _

“Ain’t that what I said?”

Silence again. 

_ She really is tired, huh? _

The fact that she was even willing to lay down beside him  _ more  _ than let him know that she was  _ definitely  _ still fucked up from what had happened in her head— but he wasn’t going to complain if it meant he could leech off her life force a little longer.

That was all it was.

The only reason.

Turning his head just slightly, he made to offer Lex a crooked smile, though when he tried… he was met with nothing but a soft snore and her sleeping face highlighted by the moonlight.

Yet another new side of her.

A peaceful one.

One that didn’t look so goddamn tired— one that was relaxed and soft and gentle in a way that he couldn’t recall having seen on her before. 

Sure, her hair was a mess and her cheeks were still damp, but that tension that usually decorated her face— that heavy shadow— had lifted.

Just subtly. 

Subtly enough that, had he not been laying next to her, he would’ve missed it entirely.

But he was laying next to her.

Next to Lex Foster. 

Who he was  _ sort of  _ supposed to kill. 

He couldn’t help but think she fit rather snugly in his arms. 

Couldn’t help but hold her just a little bit tighter.

_ You’re safe here. _

He didn’t say it, but when she rolled onto her side and gently wrapped her arms around his middle— face pressing gently into his jacket and causing his heart to skip a beat… 

He was fairly certain she knew. 

_ Nothing’s gonna hurt you. _

_ Not tonight. _

Though he didn’t say a thing— not a single word as he fell into a comfortable sleep— a soft, gentle noise spoke for him. A simple one.

One that vibrated through his chest.

One that felt  _ right _ .

A sleepy, contented purring.

She was safe.

Safe from the noose wrapped tight around Ethan’s neck. 

Maybe not always. Maybe not forever, but for now?

For now, fuck it.

Lex Foster didn’t need a tormentor. Not tonight.


	20. invisible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No big warnings for this chapter, but I wanted to pop in here and just say thank you for nearly 2,000 hits??? Oh my god??? Oh my GOD?? I never thought this silly little au would take off the way it did, and I'm absolutely blown away by the continued support from all of you who've stuck with it from the beginning. Seriously. It means the world to me that people have been commenting, sharing, recommending-- it's a little overwhelming if I'm being completely honest, but in the best possible way. So thank you. Never could've made it this far without every single one of you. Cheers! 
> 
> -Nervy

There was a demon in the bedroom with her. 

It was a realization that hit Hannah slowly as she woke up, though the first thing that  _ really _ raised a red flag was a new noise rising through the air. 

There were the usual ones— the sound of her own breathing, for one. That was a constant, but there was  _ also _ the rattling hum of the house’s heater that had kept her awake when they’d first moved in, her bedsheets rustling as she sat up— though the new one was much,  _ much _ louder than the others.

A steady, rhythmic sort of  _ growling _ .

**No.**

_ No? _

Laying there, stock still in her bed with her whole body seemingly frozen in place and her heart thumping in her throat— another noise that still somehow failed to mask the rumbles rising through the air— she slowly, slowly craned her neck in an attempt to glance over to Lex’s bed. Her head rose off her pillow. The morning light filtering in through the curtains seemed blinding— the small streak of sunshine that had managed to sneak through the glass and fall over her bed leaving her squinting against it— and her squinting only doubled when Webby prodded at the back of her mind.

Space spiders weren’t bothered by early mornings as far as Hannah could tell. 

They weren’t bothered by much. 

Not even demons growling. 

**Not growling.**

_ Oh.  _

Hannah blinked. Frowning slightly, she closed her eyes for a second and listened to it. Really  _ listened _ , tilting her head just a little as the noise continued. 

...it still  _ sounded _ like growling. It would stop and stall every few seconds to allow for a soft intake of breath before it would pick back up again, starting strong before fading only to repeat, and every time it did, it was coupled with something that she would call a  _ snore _ . 

_ Maybe… not a growl.. _

It wasn’t quite… angry enough to be a growl. She’d seen movies with big scary animals in them before, and while Ethan was  _ definitely _ big and scary, the more she listened to the gentle noise, the less hostile it seemed. It was lighter. 

Softer. 

_...purring? _

Webby didn’t respond. 

She took it as a yes. 

_...purring. _

That was less scary than growling.

That… honestly wasn’t scary at all. 

Big scary monsters didn’t normally purr. They snapped and growled and snarled, but the only thing that Hannah could hear Ethan doing was  _ vibrating _ like a kitten.  _ Kittens _ purred. Dragons and other fairytale creatures that only existed to attack and destroy… didn’t. 

_ Safe?  _ She asked, raising one hand to press at her temple. 

Though Webby didn’t verbally respond, a reassurance flooded the back of her mind, one that made her sit just a little straighter. 

Still moving cautiously— not daring to put on much speed and cause the shoddy bed to give a creak like it was prone to doing— Hannah moved herself into an upright sitting position and shielded her eyes from the light momentarily before managing to glance at where Lex should’ve been. 

Where Lex  _ probably  _ was.

From the pair of sock-clad feet sticking out just past the edge of the thin membrane, Hannah was going to go with  _ yes _ , not that she could actually see the rest of her sister, save for a small amount of frazzled brown hair poking out from just above one of the folds. 

**Safe,** Webby inputted, gently.  **Asleep.**

_ I know. _

Slinging her feet over the edge of the bed despite the chill it sent over her body, she stood, keeping the plush spider she called her own in her arms as she did. Despite the heater grating away and trying to combat the chill in the air, somehow, the morning was  _ still _ cold compared to the blankets she was leaving behind. She could practically feel the warmth she’d once had leaving her body with every step away from her bed she took toward Lex’s, standing on tiptoe to keep her distance.

As much as he was purring  _ now _ , she was  _ fairly  _ certain that panthers could still do that— and observing big animals up close was  _ dangerous _ . It was something she’d had drilled into her head for ages. Though the only species that seemed to thrive in Hatchetfield were  _ nighthawks _ — birds that she could hear chirruping away in the witchwoods whenever she ended up walking past, but from Lex and sometimes on the morning show, she knew Hatchetfield was  _ also _ home to timberwolves, and if she ever encountered one, she had been told to keep her distance and try to be intimidating.

The second one wasn’t exactly something she was doing now, but in her defense, she was only thirteen, and Ethan was an entire  _ foot  _ taller than her without counting his curving horns, so she had to settle with keeping herself away from him. 

After all, big animals could only pounce so far when they were tired, probably, and Ethan was out like a light— snoring quietly a few feet away from where she was standing with her plush spider close to her chest. 

**Hannah. Look.**

_...can’t see. _

**Closer.**

One of the hands clutching the plush toy started to fidget. 

_...have to? _

Webbby didn’t respond.

_ Usually _ when she didn’t respond, it was because Hannah already knew the answer, and usually it was an answer that she didn’t care for, and now was no exception.

_...closer. _

Slowly, making sure her weight didn’t cause the floorboards to creak, Hannah tiptoed closer to where Ethan lay with his wings splayed out and purrs rolling up from his throat in time with every breath that she could actually  _ see  _ beneath the jacket he seemed to have slept in. 

It was a subtle movement.

A small rise of his chest that was followed by a thunder of noise that sounded almost… gentle.

He didn’t look like a demon when he was sleeping. 

He just looked… like someone Lex’s age. 

If she looked past the horns peeking out from his mess of curly hair and the fangs she could see thanks to the fact that his mouth was hanging slightly open— a soft snore issuing from it— she couldn’t help but think that he just looked  _ normal _ . Not like some animal like he did when he was awake— that gleam in his eyes hidden away and that ready-to-spring demeanour gone completely— he didn’t look like anything all that remarkable at all. 

His eyes were closed. His chest was rising in sync with her sister’s, and although he was smiling crookedly and showing off  _ way _ too many teeth for a human to have— one that made Hannah run her tongue over her own teeth that were much,  _ much _ duller than those piercing spikes in his mouth— they didn’t make that same knot twist in her stomach the way they had before, and the fact that Lex was holding him tight was enough to make it disappear entirely. 

Her face was pressed to his shoulder, one arm slung around his middle, one leg hiked up just below his knee. 

His tail curled just beneath it. The pointed end swayed back and forth, albeit, slowly, and the closer Hannah looked at the oddly domestic scene— looked at how Lex was wrapped around him as well as she could be, looked at how she didn’t look tense, how she didn’t look as though she was waiting for an opening and a way to run… a thought bubbled across her mind.

A word. 

_...safe. _

She looked safe. 

She looked  _ peaceful _ . 

She wasn’t smiling, wasn’t doing anything other than laying there with a somewhat neutral expression with Ethan’s wing wrapped tightly around her back and her head pressed in place against his shoulder, but it didn’t look as though she had made any effort to get away from him. If the noise bugged her, it wasn’t something that was showing. 

Wasn’t something that was obvious, anyway. 

With Ethan’s clawed hand gently resting on her side and his wing sheltering her from Hannah’s view in part, it wasn’t as though anything could reach her, not when she was there, nestled against his side.

**Protector** , Webby murmured in her mind. 

“Protector,” Hannah echoed under her breath, giving the spider in her arms an affectionate pat on the head, causing the glossy eyes to click softly together. 

“Can’t hurt.”

**Contract.**

_ Contract. _

She stood a little straighter. 

A piece of paper didn’t seem like it was something that  _ could _ stop a demon from doing anything, but she had to admit, the fact that he’d promised to keep them both from harm was one that allowed that last little bit of fear to leave her. 

After all, he couldn’t do a thing to her, and from the way he was holding Lex close and purring under his breath, she was fairly certain he didn’t  _ want _ to.

Webby didn’t correct the thought. 

Which meant that she didn’t  _ have _ to, though she  _ did _ say another thing that caused a soft huff to escape Hannah’s lips. 

**Can’t stay.**

Her grip on the plush spider tightened a little as her gaze travelled to the partly open bedroom door, then back to where Lex and Ethan were tangled up in a mess of wings, tail, and arms that seemed to be comfortable right where they were if the matching expressions the pair wore were any indication. 

It was such a nice little scene—

**Late,** Webby reiterated, **school. Awake soon. Get your bag.**

_ School. _

_ That  _ was a thought that sent a chill down her spine and made it easy to forget the slumbering demon splayed out in front of her as she looked down to the plushie in her arms and gingerly fiddled with one of its eight legs— the third one in on the left. The one bent at a funny angle. 

_...have to go? _

Webby didn’t respond. 

In all honesty, she didn’t need to, because Hannah knew the answer was  _ yes,  _ but school was probably one of her least favorite places to go thanks to  _ all _ of it. 

It was just so much. 

_...don’t think about it.  _

That was what Lex had always told her, and Lex was always right about that sort of thing. After all, Lex had gone through middle school— she could do it, too, even if she knew things were different for Lex. 

They always had been. Lex was  _ older _ , for one, and when she talked or was uncomfortable, she only did little things, like tapping her fingers or playing with her hoodie strings. She was confident, talked to strange people all the time and complained about it when she got home, she always knew what to do in the face of any struggle as far as Hannah could tell. 

But Hannah  _ wasn’t  _ Lex. 

Things were just  _ harder _ .

That was how they were. 

Words would jumble in her mouth and drip past her lips in bits of sentences, or not leave at all, staying stuck in her head in a swirling mess that she had absolutely no hope of properly explaining to anybody else. 

Not that she ever had to explain it to anybody at school.

They just didn’t listen.

Lex was the only person who  _ actually  _ paid attention to her and didn’t just  _ skip _ parts of the conversation, filling in with nods and fake smiles— she  _ cared,  _ and she was there whenever the words would get stuck in her throat or her emotions would grow too large to hold in. 

Her emotions were always  _ big _ , swelling up through her chest and escaping in hand motions no matter how hard she tried to keep them pushed down deep where they couldn’t get spotted by anybody, her hands would just  _ move _ .

There was a fancy word for it—  _ stimming—  _ but Lex always just called it flapping, and it was a term that crossed Hannah’s mind every single time her hands did  _ anything _ she didn’t ask them to. As she twisted the spider plushie’s leg between her fingers, she could feel the movement turning less and less controlled and more and more something she couldn’t quite stop, tucking the toy under her arm and waving her now-free hand at her side. 

**Hannah. You’re going to be late.**

_ Lexie’s still sleeping… _

**She’ll get up soon.**

Ethan’s tail flicked. 

The wing cradling Lex against him twitched, and as Hannah watched, the long, sharp claws resting on her side dug slightly into the side of her shirt, though they didn’t pierce the fabric. If anything, the gesture was gentle. 

It was weird, seeing  _ Ethan _ being gentle, but in all honesty? Hannah was  _ used _ to weird. And Ethan, while weird, was  _ asleep _ , so  _ she _ was the one being weird by watching.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he tugged Lex a little closer— wing folding downward and pinning her against the front of his jacket in an almost protective fashion, and when he  _ did _ … that low thunder from his throat turned to something that was  _ louder _ . 

Thicker.

Still broken up with snores that made Hannah muffle a small smile with her hand before turning on her heel and tiptoeing out of the room, though not before grabbing her favorite overalls, lucky flannel, and a burgundy shirt to pull on in the bathroom, pushing the door shut with her heel behind her. 

There wasn’t a speck of worry in her mind when the door fell shut behind her. 

Leaving her older sister alone with a demon wasn’t something that would  _ normally _ be considered a comfort, but Hannah couldn’t keep herself from feeling… genuinely  _ calm _ as she went through the motions of washing her face, brushing her teeth, and putting on her clothes for the morning. 

_ Can I trust him now? _

A pause followed, long enough for Hannah to drag her fingers through her hair and take out the last of her braids before tugging on her flannel. 

**...not yet.**

_ Yet? _

**Soon. A little, today.**

She stood up a little straighter at that. 

Being on edge in her own home was something she’d called normal for far too long, according to Paul, anyway, and although her mother hadn’t been home, Ethan  _ had _ been. Every time she came back from school, she’d have the house to herself for awhile, and then Lex would show up with  _ him _ in tow. 

The first week had been hard. 

She’d slept in Lex’s bed a couple of times, and the two of them had whispered long into the night— and then Lex had whispered to herself after she’d thought Hannah was asleep. Never full conversations, just hisses of  _ “fucking crazy”  _ and  _ “ghosts”  _ and  _ “losing it” _ as she carefully scrolled through her phone, nails sometimes clicking against the screen as if she was typing out a message before she’d sigh and clear it. 

They’d talked a few times. 

Sometimes about normal things, but eventually, their conversations would shift over to the three other beings they shared a house with, and how long they’d have to deal with  _ him. _

_ “Just until we can leave,” Lex had promised, gently squeezing her hand under the sheets, “then he goes, m’kay?”  _

_ “Where?” Hannah remembered asking, quietly, the soft thrum of the heater the only sound between them as Lex frowned.  _

_ “...I’m not sure, but does it matter? We’ll be outta here— what matters is where  _ we _ go.” _

**_Bad place._ **

Us?

**_Him._ **

Oh.

_ “...Webby says bad place,” she’d murmured, voice not rising above a whisper. _

_ Images had flickered through the back of her mind— images of green fur and long, creeping tentacles— before she’d forced them away. Sometimes, Webby showed her things she didn’t want to see— and the bad place was one of them.  _

_ Somewhere that wasn’t dark, but  _ bright _ , a crippling white abyss that left nothing hidden from view with swirls of thick, inky blacks that were full of glittering eyes and grinning mouths— _

Spitting in the sink, she forced her thoughts away from the words Webby had spoken and lifted the spider plushie to sit on the counter.

“ _ No, _ ” she informed it, sternly, gazing into the two largest eyes the soft toy had. “Don’t want to think about it. Not today.”

There was silence.

Silence, followed by a soft, almost  _ humming  _ feeling in the back of her head that she’d come to recognize as agreement, though it still made her lift a hand and brush it against her hair. Not out of discomfort, more an acknowledgement. 

“...okay,” she breathed. “Thanks.”

Another hum. 

She took it as permission to pick the plushie up again. 

Under her flannel, gooseflesh rose along her arms, though she brushed it off, hugging Webby tighter as she stepped out into the hallway and made her way to the kitchen, keeping her head up and her ears alert. Force of habit. Better to be safe than sorry— another thing Lex used to tell her that she’d committed to memory. 

_ Better safe than sorry. _

_ Try not to say much. _

_ Don’t be too loud— _

“Where do the cups go?”

Emma Perkins must not have gotten the memo. 

Striding into the kitchen with Webby in her arms, the small smile that Hannah had been wearing almost the entire morning returned to her face— her tired eyes brightening as they settled on Paul and Emma.

“Top,” Hannah inputted, pointing up toward a small cabinet beside the window when Emma glanced her way. “Close to the sink.” 

“ _ See? _ ” From where he stood with his arms up to the elbows in the sink, Paul bumped Emma with his hip, causing her to huff at him. 

“That’s not where  _ we _ kept the cups.”

“But it makes  _ sense _ — they’re right between the sink  _ and _ the fridge.” 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Emma returned, swinging open the cabinet and floating up to be eye-level with it before setting the cup down on the topmost shelf, “but it’s too high up. I mean, c’mon, it’s  _ up _ there— I have to levitate to even get there! It’s just an inconvenience is what it is.”

Hannah stifled a giggle as Paul’s expression slipped into one that she recognized pretty well— his gaze slipping from her to the ghost hovering somewhat amusedly beside him— one that led her to offer him a stiff shrug in response before he sighed. 

“...maybe for you.”

“You really comin’ after me for my height, Matthews?” 

Paul’s shoulders rose and fell. His gaze shifted slightly, moving from the half-done dishes in the sink over to Emma, a halfway smirk on his face. “Might be, Perkins.” 

Scoffing and pushing the door shut with an incredulous expression on her face, Emma narrowed her eyes. “I want a divorce.” 

That  _ really _ made Hannah laugh. Moving past Emma and grabbing a bowl from one of the lower cupboards, she set Webby on the counter and shook her head. “No,” she corrected. “Won’t.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paul stiffen as she grabbed the box of cereal from where she’d left it out the morning prior, though she brushed it off, instead, turning her attention to her breakfast. 

It was a normal enough routine. 

Not conventionally normal or anything, but one that Hannah had settled into nicely. She’d get up— usually around the same time as Lex— avoid Ethan, smile at Paul, have breakfast, and then settle down for a day full of schoolwork— either at home or in the actual school building. 

Today was the latter.

**Late.**

She glanced at the clock on the microwave. 

_...said she’d wake up.  _

**Soon.**

“School today?” Paul asked, depositing a dripping plate in the drainboard. “Because if that’s going on, you should probably get your sister.” 

Hannah nodded in response. “Up soon.” Not bothering to elaborate as she carefully pulled the mostly spent carton of milk from the fridge and poured a little into the bowl— leaving enough for Lex if she was going to eat before settling down at the table. 

The quiet was a nice sort of quiet. 

Not the kind that was heavy and felt like it was squishing all the air out of her lungs, a  _ gentle _ quiet that she could actually relax in. One she could let her guard fall in. 

_...good. _

Maybe today was going to be a good day. It had been awhile since she’d had a proper one of those. 

Munching at her cereal, halfway watching as Emma and Paul bickered about where certain things should go— all in a joking manner— she found her gaze drifting to the plush spider sitting on the countertop. 

_ Good day? _

The toy didn’t respond.

It never did— and she didn’t expect it to— but looking into the plastic eyes of the stuffed arachnid gave her something to focus on as she swallowed a mouthful of cereal and took another. 

“Y’know, Matthews, a divorce kinda implies that you’d  _ marry  _ me.”

An image flashed in Hannah’s mind— one brought on by Webby— a black box, halfway opened with something small and golden glinting within it, along with an overwhelming push that made her push a hand to her forehead and set down her spoon momentarily. 

“Should.”

The word fell from her lips without her permission. 

She hadn’t meant to say it. 

Stiffening— gaze darting over to the pair of ghosts— Hannah watched as Paul’s feet lifted a good few inches off the ground, leaving him bent at an awkward angle to keep his hands in the water, though with a soft  _ splash _ , the plate he’d been holding slipped back into the sink. His head turned to face her, and when their eyes met, Hannah offered a shrug and sank down in her seat. 

“...already act like it,” she tried to clarify— this time, causing Emma to lift up a few more inches. “Live together. Like each other. Don’t fight.” Biting her cheek as she listed off the traits, Hannah cocked her head a little. “...good idea.”

The dishes seemed to have been forgotten.

Hannah’s skin prickled under her flannel. Trying to stay nonchalant, keeping her head angled downward so she didn’t have to look at them, she swung her legs back and forth under the table. 

“...she’d say yes.”

Emma choked on the air.

The kitchen light fizzled. 

“I—“ Paul started to stammer, “—g-gosh, I— I dunno about th-that— she’s just my…” With a small cough and a sidelong glance at Emma, Paul set his lips in a straight line. “Girlfriend.”

“ _ Well,  _ we haven’t put a  _ label  _ on it yet,” Emma cut in.

“Though we  _ were  _ intimate—“

“ _ Paul!” _

Hannah’s brows drew together. “What’s  _ intimate? _ ”

Glancing up, she managed to catch Paul’s completely deadened expression— lips pressed together in a thin line, head lowered, eyes glossy— before Emma coughed sharply, drawing him into the present. 

“Nothing you need to worry about right now,” she deflected, at which Paul nodded and tapped his fists repetitively together.

**Stim.**

_ Nervous? _

**Yes.**

As much as she wanted to press the question— curiosity still there in her mind— with the information, she let it drop as Paul continued to tap his fists. 

_...like me? _

**Yes.**

Her head lifted slightly. 

“Hey,” he started in a clear attempt to change the conversation, “have either of you seen Eth—”

A sound interrupted Paul’s meek voice. 

A sharp, earsplitting  _ shriek.  _

_ Lex.  _

“ _ FUCK—” _

A muffled yelp followed it, along with a deeper voice. “Hey— watch it— what the  _ fuck?” _

“ _ What the FUCK are you doing in my room?” _

“Well, I  _ was _ sleeping until you  _ elbowed me in the _ — OW OW  _ OW—” _

“You don’t feel pain anymore, you can take it, get  _ off—” _

“My  _ TAIL  _ is  _ STUCK!” _

A thud sounded, followed by a  _ fwoosh _ like a gust of wind. 

**Awake,** Webby dutifully informed her.  **Not hurt.**

“...should we do something about... that?” Paul started, quiety. 

In sync, Hannah and Emma responded. 

“No.”

When their eyes met, Emma broke into a laugh— and Hannah couldn’t help but do the same, raising a hand to muffle a soft giggle before it broke past her lips. 

“Shouldn’t laugh!” She scolded, raising a finger and pointing it in Emma’s direction. 

“Hypocrite,” Emma returned, grinning, “now quiet down— I wanna hear this.”

Hannah obliged. 

The two voices had turned quiet. She was fairly certain the two were still talking— there was no reason for them to just  _ stop _ out of nowhere— but it wasn’t loud enough to actually make out words, rather, two different tones. 

The quiet lasted barely long enough for Hannah to deposit her used bowl and spoon in the sink, offering an apologetic to Paul before the door down the hall flew open with a sharp  _ bang _ .

Lex all but  _ spilled  _ down the hallway and into the kitchen, Ethan hot on her heels, a look of utter and complete  _ confusion  _ on his face. His tail narrowly avoided smacking Hannah where she stood next to Paul— whipping through the ghost’s legs. 

She couldn’t stop herself from flinching. When his eyes connected with her own, she shrank back. 

His pupils thinned out.

His lips pulled back— a mouth full of sharp teeth being revealed before he turned his attention back to Lex, leaving Hannah with her pulse spiking and her hands clammy, eyes fixated on him.

“I thought you weren’t upset about—”

“Not everything’s about  _ you _ , Green!” Lex snapped, dragging her fingers through her hair. “ _ Fuck _ , what time is it?”

Hannah’s gaze shot to the clock. 

“Seven—” She started, though she was interrupted by Lex giving a groan and dragging her fingers down the front of her face. 

“ _ Fuck _ — okay— guess I’m not eating this morning, that’s fine.” Brushing past Paul and Emma, she turned her eyes to Hannah and offered a hesitant smile. 

It looked forced.

Like the ones she gave people at work before it’d drop to show off the heavy tiredness that was always beneath it. 

“You ready to go?”

Hannah nodded. “Ready,” she echoed, bending down to pick up her weatherbeaten backpack from under the table— a few brightly patterned pins that Lex had given her jangling together as she slipped it over her shoulders and moved toward the door, Lex right behind her. 

“Sorry, I totally overslept—  _ fuck _ , is it okay if you’re a little late?” Yanking on her shoes without bothering to undo the laces first, her older sister braced her shoulder against the wall and struggled to get them on as Hannah gave a small nod. 

“Okay,” she agreed. 

_ More than okay. _

That meant she wouldn’t have to wait outside her class all that long and risk running into  _ him _ — not Ethan, though that was  _ another  _ person she didn’t say the name of too often—  _ River Monroe.  _

Just thinking it made her skin crawl.

She didn’t think about it long. 

She didn’t really  _ get  _ to. 

A shadow fell over her before she could find time to dwell on it. One with horns. 

“Do you just… go when you feel like it?” Ethan asked from behind her.

Her spine tingled. She could  _ feel _ his eyes on her before she turned around, and when she moved, it was slow, like moving too quickly would set him off and cause him to pounce, and when she met his eyes, it was only for a second before she focused instead on the gleam of his silver buttons. 

**Talk to him.**

She swallowed hard. Her hands slipped into the sleeves of her too-big flannel, fingers barely reaching the ends. 

“...no.” 

He nodded. 

Ethan nodded  _ weirdly _ . It was something he turned into a fullbodied movement— one that caused his shoulders to bob and his wings to fold, his hands tucking themselves neatly in his pockets. “S’that why you always have so much work to do, then? Homework?” 

Again, she hesitated before responding. The pause between when he spoke and when she forced herself to respond was painfully audible, especially with Paul and Emma’s hushed voices reaching her ears from the kitchen and the sound of Lex tugging on an old shop jacket. 

“...yes,” she mumbled, softly. “Don’t do much at school.”

“Ah, I never did much, either.” 

From where she was zipping up the coat, Lex gave a scoff. “You didn’t do  _ shit _ , Green.”

His fangs flashed in a grin. The hands that had once been in his pockets rose, claws glinting just slightly in the sunlight. “Guilty as charged.” 

“Figured,” Lex returned, before her hand found the doorknob and twisted it— the door opening with a soft creak of indignance. “C’mon, Hannah, let’s go.” 

Ethan took a step closer. 

Hannah didn’t look at him. She could feel his shadow over her as she bent to pull on her own shoes, tugging on the laces. 

“...d’ya want company?” 

Hannah didn’t respond.

She didn’t look up, either.

All she did was switch her weight to her other foot where she was crouching and work at tying the other bow, looping the lace around her fingers as Lex stepped out onto the porch. 

Behind her, Ethan coughed. “I mean, hey, whatever, I can stay here an’ help with the dishes or somethin’, but…” 

He trailed off when she stood and turned to face him. 

**He’s asking you.**

_ What do I say? _

No answer. 

Not from Webby, or from her. All she could manage to do was look into his eyes with her shoulders pulled up toward her ears defensively and her hands starting to twitch a little at her sides as those slit pupils flicked back and forth across her face. Reading her. 

She tried to read him in return.

It wasn’t working. 

Reading people was another thing that seemed like it was easier for Lex. Hannah could see the way his face  _ looked _ — see the way his brow was furrowed and the way that his lips were twitching just slightly around his fangs, that smile he was wearing threatening to disappear— but it took her a little extra time to understand what it  _ meant _ , and even then, it was never the most accurate thing. 

His tail hit the wall. 

“...takin’ that as a no.” 

She nodded. “No,” she echoed back, albeit, with a soft, guarded smile. “Not today.” 

Ethan smirked in response. “Sure thing,” he returned, and before she could pull away, he curled his hands into a fist and moved to lightly cuff her shoulder. “Have a good day at school, then, squirt.” 

She didn’t pull away in time. 

It was a gentle touch— barely a brush of the side of his hand to her flannel— but it was enough to make her jolt, and when her gaze shot to Ethan, it seemed like it was enough to make  _ him _ jolt, too. 

Light flashed. 

Like that, a sharp, startled  _ yelp _ tore up from his throat— hand pulling away from her in a jerky motion to clap against his chest— Hannah doing much the same, all but jolting into the wall, heart rate spiking as Ethan flared open his wings. 

“ _ Shit! _ ” He hissed through his teeth, digging his claws into his jacket. “Fuckin’ Jesus—  _ ow!” _

**Hurt.**

_ Hurt? _

**Contract. Not allowed. Broke the rules.**

Frozen in place, barely processing the fact that Paul had darted into her field of vision behind the demon’s outstretched wings and the sound of Lex doubling back up the stairs, again, they locked eyes. 

When he spoke, it was slow. “...what the fuck was  _ that?” _

All Hannah could manage was a weak shrug. “Broke the rules,” she informed him, softly, raising a hand to tug on one of her pigtails. “No touching. Not allowed.” 

Ethan’s hand twitched against his chest. 

People were hard to read. People were  _ always _ hard to read, but as Hannah looked from his scrunched up eyebrows to his claws that were tapping against the front of his jacket and making the zippers jingle, she could  _ clearly _ make out the confusion tinging his expression as he went to inhale. 

“I—”

Lex interrupted him before he could begin. 

“Hannah, hey— c’mon, we’re gonna have to  _ sprint  _ if you wanna get there on time,” she huffed from where she stood out on the porch, and when Hannah met Ethan’s eyes again, gaze moving up from his wicked claws and the shape of Paul hovering a few inches behind him— a silent observer— she offered a weak shrug.

“Late,” she mumbled, and with that, she turned and all but skittered out the front door— shutting it sharply behind her. 

Only then did she allow herself to breathe. 

The morning air was cool and crisp, all but burning a trail into her lungs as she adjusted how her pack sat against her shoulders and strode down the front steps— Lex waiting on the sidewalk.

“Good to go?” 

Hannah nodded, and like that, the two fell in step. 

It was a quicker walk than normal. The middle school wasn’t too far away from the little trailer house— the place practically between the shoddy building and the mall that Lex worked at— but the pair of them were still taking longer strides, leaving Hannah struggling to keep up. 

The pins she had tinkled quietly. 

“...sorry we’re late,” she mumbled, quietly.

Lex offered a weary smile in response. “Hey— you’re not the one who forgot to set an alarm. That’s on me. Totally overslept— stayed up too late last night playing Clue.”

Hannah gave a hum in response, glancing at the older girl out of the corner of her eye.

A question rose in her mind.

“...okay?” She asked, softly. 

Lex frowned. “Yeah. Fine— why?” 

Shrugging, Hannah pushed her fingers beneath the straps of her bag, tugging on them lightly. “Wondered,” she answered. “There with Ethan.”

The frown her sister wore deepened— mouth opening just a little as though she wanted to say something, though her words turned to a soft sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I was,” she agreed. “Though nothing…” Trailing off and scrubbing a hand down the front of her face, she gave another small sigh.

Hannah nodded in response. 

“...intimate,” she agreed, at which Lex’s expression  _ dropped _ . 

Her eyes widened. 

A choking noise pulled up from her throat, and for a moment, she was reminded of Paul. It was the same noise he’d made when she’d brought up marrying Emma, that same, halfway frightened, mostly embarrassed  _ squeak. _

“ _ What _ ?” She sputtered after a moment spent struggling to find her words. “N-No—  _ no!  _ Oh my god, wh-where did you even—”

“Paul,” Hannah supplied. 

“Oh, of  _ course _ .”

“Said he and Emma were.” Taking a moment to adjust her backpack straps again, Hannah shot Lex a small smile and tried to clarify. “Like you and Ethan.”

“Oh my god, we’re  _ not _ —” Taking a moment to collect herself, Lex gave a sharp bark of laughter. “—look, Ethan and I are  _ not _ fucking  _ intimate _ . Never will be. I just… had a bad dream, and he was the unfortunate closest person to me.” 

“...so not intimate—”

“ _ Please _ stop using that word.” 

“Why?”

Hannah watched as Lex pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a slow, steady stream of air through her teeth. “Just trust me. You’ll know when you’re older, okay?”

Lex quickened her step. It was a subtle thing, one that Hannah wouldn’t have noticed if she were a few inches taller than her current height, but she found herself trying to take longer strides in an attempt to keep up. They were getting closer to the school building— just a few more blocks between them and the old building. 

“Purring,” Hannah pointed out after a few minutes of walking in silence. “Heard him. Before you woke up.” 

Her sister’s steps slowed. 

“Yeah?” 

She nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, “Webby says it’s good. Says he’s changing. Not bad. Not completely.”

Stepping forward in tandem, legs moving in sync, the two neared the chain link fence surrounding the school field. 

“You think so?” Lex asked. 

Hannah shrugged. “ _ Webby _ thinks so.”

“...do you think Webby’s right?”

Another shrug. Tucking her hands into her pant pockets, Hannah stuck close to Lex’s side. “Not sure. Looks scary. Acts scary, but… doesn’t mean it.”

Lex snorted. “Doesn’t mean it?”

“That’s what  _ Webby  _ says,” Hannah corrected, “ _ I’m _ not sure.”

“...right, so what do  _ you _ think?”

Hannah shrugged. 

“Not sure,” she repeated, “but… trying. Keeps mom away.” 

She didn’t know  _ how  _ exactly Ethan had done that, but in all honesty, she didn’t really  _ care _ . The woman wasn’t hurt, she wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t anywhere near the pair of them as far as she knew, and that was more than good enough for her. Twirling her finger around one of her braids, she used her other hand to lightly adjust a strap on her bag. 

“...trying,” she finally muttered, at which Lex gave a small nod.

“I guess he is.”

“Helped you.”

They stopped just before the break in the fence. 

From where they stood, Hannah could see a group of other kids hanging out by one of the entrances and stiffened, forcing her eyes back to Lex.

_ She’s smiling. _

It was faint, sure, but  _ there _ as the older girl inhaled and glanced over to the school building.

“...I guess he did.” 

**He did.**

Hannah smiled back.

It was a nice moment. 

Of course it was interrupted by the shrill blaring of the schoolbell— a sound that made Hannah bring her hands up to her head and wince before Lex set a hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’ll pick you up, ‘kay, Banana? Call if you need me sooner. Nurse Becky’ll let you use the phone— you know the new number, right?”

Her head bobbed in a nod.

Lex chuckled under her breath. “Awh, knew you did. You always had the better memory out of the two of us, huh?”

That pried a laugh from her. “You remember lots!”

“Not compared to you!”

Shaking her head, Hannah folded her arms against her chest. “ _ I  _ forget things, too.” 

Leaning against the fence post— causing the whole thing to rattle— Lex mirrored the gesture. “Well, if your memory’s so good— remember to have a good day, okay?”

“I will.”

She always did. 

Of course, she could only try so hard to  _ actually _ follow through with that, but there was always an effort made on her part— usually a good one, and today didn’t actually  _ seem _ bad. Sure, there was the thing with Ethan and the way he’d looked when he’d tried to touch her, but Paul and Emma were always nice, and Lex had  _ smiled _ despite looking tired…

_ Still is. _

Giving Lex a last bright smile before turning and walking up the small pathway toward the school’s entrance, Hannah exhaled slowly and straightened out, allowing her legs to kick into autopilot. Most of the other kids had already filed in through the doors, leaving the courtyard clear for her to stride through with her head just a little higher than normal.

_ Maybe today will be a good day. _

It was a nice thought.

It lasted about three minutes. 


	21. so let's go slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings for this one! Hope you all enjoy :)

She should’ve fucking googled him the second he’d shown up on her kitchen table. 

The fact that she hadn’t even _thought_ of it was nothing short of infuriating. It should’ve been like, item _three_ on her list of things to do when a demon that wore the face of Ethan fucking Green crashed into her life— not that she’d really _had_ a list of things to do in case someone she barely knew decided to come back from the dead. 

Because that would’ve been weird. 

And really, _really_ paranoid— but it _also_ would’ve paid off when it actually _happened_. 

Head down, gaze fixated on the concrete as she walked in the direction of the trailer park, Lex tapped her fingers at her side for a moment before reaching into the inner pocket of her jacket. Last she’d checked, there’d been about a half pack of cigarettes left in the half-crushed box she kept there— and Hannah wasn’t here to wrinkle her nose at the smoke. 

_Fuck yeah, no reason not to._

And according to her, no reason not to was a fucking invitation. 

Her fingers found the box in almost record time. From there, it was practically second nature to use her other hand to root around for her lighter and flick it— bringing the unlit cig to the small flame before inhaling a breath of smoke, though it really didn’t change how much fog there seemed to be in the air around her.

The morning was _cold_ . Hannah seemed to be immune to all that shit because she was always _moving_ in a way— stimming or fidgeting and keeping her body warm— but compared to Lex’s slow strides? Now that there was no need to rush, Lex was _more_ than feeling the cold even as the smoke warmed her lungs. The worn down fabric of her jacket wasn’t helping her case, either, allowing the wind to bite right through the supposedly wind-resistant coating and dig its frozen teeth into her skin. 

_God._

_When we run away, it’ll be to somewhere warm._

That’d be nice. 

Blinking, letting a plume of smoke blow past her lips, Lex lifted her head and closed her eyes mid-step, for a moment, allowing herself to pretend that she _wasn’t_ in the shithole that was Hatchetfield— that she was somewhere better. Somewhere brighter. Somewhere fucking _warmer_ — _serously_ , the windy bullshit was something that got on her fucking _nerves_. 

_Somewhere warm, and somewhere far away._

Somewhere with nothing to tie her down. Nothing to keep her connected to Hatchetfield, just her, the open road, and—

Her phone chimed. 

Her eyes opened. 

She was still in Hatchetfield. 

Still just walking down the sidewalk— only a few feet ahead of where she’d let her eyes slip closed. 

It was still windy, windy enough that the next exhale of smoke blew back in her face and made her eyes water, and when she raised a hand to try waving it away, all she managed to do was cause it to billow even _more_ into her eyes, the tears that beaded there involuntarily enough to make her stop walking and give a groan. 

Whatever. 

One of the only perks to living in a small town was the fact that there wasn’t anybody outside to see her wiping at her eyes and struggling not to cough like she had the first time she’d taken a drag.

She was _so_ gonna fucking _throttle_ whoever had made the mistake of snapping her back into reality, that was—

_Oh._

Pulling her phone from her pocket, the second she saw the contact name, the anger that had flared up through her body fizzled out. 

The nickname of a certain person who’d moved off to Clivesdale and closed off her already small as shit social circle in one fell swoop when she did. 

**Allie Cat (8:32):** Hey,,, so uh,,, about next time i’ll see you

_Shit._

That wasn’t good. 

Lex stepped to the edge of the sidewalk. Her footsteps slowed. 

**Lexie (8:33):** everything good?

The reply came immediately. 

Which _probably_ meant something was wrong. 

**Allie Cat (8:33):** well

 **Allie Cat (8:33):** not really

 **Lexie (8:33):** shit, u okay?? 

**Allie cat (8:34):** well

Forcing herself to type faster than she normally would, Lex moved herself so she was leaning against a half-grown sapling the city had planted about a year back and thumbed out a response— the ticking clock of Alice’s typing bubble not lost on her.

 **Lexie (8:34):** if u fuckign say not really again im beating ur ass when you come back

 **Allie cat (8:35):** not really

 **Allie cat (8:35):** wait

 **Allie cat (8:35):** no dont do that pls

Lex snorted, but before she could think of a clever reply, Alice’s bubble returned on the bottom of the screen.

 **Allie cat (8:36):** i mean it might be awhile so maybe youll be cooled off by then

Her brows drew together. 

**Lexie (8:36):** awhile?

It took Alice a little longer to respond to the message. 

The dots at the bottom of Lex’s screen stalled, stopping and starting a few times— in her mind’s eye, she could all but see Alice laying in her bed in Clivesdale, deleting and retyping the message a few times before deeming it good enough to send, not that she was complaining. 

It left her enough time to take another quick drag. 

**Allie cat (8:39):** u know how my mom kinda gets upset whenever my dad tries to borrow me when hes like. not supposed to? she’s doing it again n trying to make him make up for the time i spent at a funeral by making me miss my visit this month. so. it might be awhile before u can beat me up ig.

 **Allie cat (8:40):** so if u hold a grudge u can still pummel me when u see me but if not i think im safe

Lex’s heart sank. 

_Shit._

What was she even supposed to say to that?

Biting down on her mostly spent cigarette and exhaling a steady stream of smoke, Lex used one hand to brush her hair out of her face before trying again to think of a response. 

**Lexie (8:41):** fuck man thats rlly shitty

 **Lexie (8:41):** does deb know?

 **Allie cat (8:42):** not yet

 **Allie cat (8:42):** didnt want her to get upset. told u first bc you were like. the only person who saw me on funeral day.

 **Lexie (8:42):** so no?

Another pause in Alice’s bubble. 

**Allie cat (8:43):** so no. 

**Lexie (8:43):** fuck

 **Lexie (8:43):** i mean, this place is a total fucking dump so like. cool that youre not here i guess but like. shitty that u cant see deb.

 **Allie cat (8:44):** clivesdale is like. way worse. 

**Lexie (8:44):** u said it not me

 **Allie cat (8:45):** just got told that the next time ill be there is the end of next month at the earliest hhghghghghhhhhhhh

 **Allie cat (8:45):** not to be a lesbian on main or anything but FUCK i just want to be with herrrrrrrrrrr

Her eyebrows raised. Lifting her head from her phone— still alone on the street, thank god— she tossed the cigarette to the concrete and snuffed it with her heel.

 **Lexie (8:46):** did u just swear?

 **Allie cat (4:46):** u would too if u had to be away from your gf for a fucking month and a half

 **Lexie (8:47):** holy shit, twice????

 **Allie cat (4:47):** make it three times if u dont get off my case

 **Lexie (8:47):** fair

 **Lexie (8:47):** if it hits three am i legally allowed to deck u

 **Allie cat (8:48):** hell no

 **Allie cat (8:48):** youd kill me in one hit without even breaking a sweat

A laugh escaped Lex— a genuine one that immediately made her glance over her shoulder despite the fact that the street was empty. It always was. Not so much as a car crawling past or someone else on the sidewalk. People always called Hatchetfield a small town, which was a little odd, considering the fact that for a small town, it had a _lot_ compared to _other_ small towns Lex had heard of, but sometimes, it was easy to figure out how the mistake had been made. 

Like right now. 

If she didn’t work at the mall, she would’ve sworn up and down that Hatchetfield was a ghost town. 

_Ha._

_Ghost town._

Looking back to her phone when it buzzed, she felt the small smile that had twitched across her lips fall flat. 

**Allie cat (8:49):** my mom wants me to get off my phone 

**Allie cat (8:50):** ill text later,,, gtg,,, 

**Lexie (8:50):** oh,,, bye ig

 **Lexie (8:51):** punch u later

Alice’s read receipt didn’t pop up. 

Lex sighed. 

_Great._

Whatever. 

Alice had never been the best at texting at a set time, anyway. Hell— the next time she actually remembered to shoot a sentence at her would _probably_ be like, the _day_ she got into town and it’d be an apology for blowing her off to hang out with Deb. 

Not that it’d matter. 

She’d probably be working, anyway, with black friday right around the corner and then the capitalist hell that was Christmas— a holiday usually spent trying to avoid her mother and attempting to scrounge together some sort of gift for Hannah that wouldn’t get confiscated… 

_God, and Ethan will probably be there for that…_

Stretching her legs, pushing the thought of the demon out of her head as quickly as it had come, Lex turned her attention back to the sidewalk. 

She was in no real hurry to get back. Hannah had seemed to be having a good day, which meant the chances of getting a call home were low as anything, Paul and Emma looked as though they’d been doing chores she’d been putting off all week, and if she didn’t head back right away, she wouldn't have to confront _him._

Ethan. 

_Fuck_ , how come she’d had to go and fall asleep beside him? The memories of the night before were thick and heavy in her mind, blurring together into a mess of grotesque images and panic that had seeped into her veins and _apparently_ , into _his_.

Some shit to do with the contract. 

A leaf crunched under her shoe. 

God, now she was out on her own thinking of Ethan Green— trying to push him out of her head despite the fact that he seemed to fucking _live there now_ with every step she took toward the trailer park.

Where he _also_ lived. 

Well. Not _lived._

Died.

Whatever. 

Keeping her hands in her pockets in an attempt to warm them, mournfully quickening her pace against the wind, she tried her damndest to keep her thoughts away from Ethan. Fuck’s sake, she barely even _knew_ him. As much as he was living in her house and sharing her space, all she _really_ knew about him were the things he chose to show her, which… wasn’t much. 

She knew he cheated at board games. 

She knew he could barely spell. 

She knew he fucked around more than he admitted while she was at work and had changed around where items had sat on shelves on more than one occasion. 

She knew he’d died about a year ago, but… that was pretty much it, and that went without even _mentioning_ that when it came to demons, she knew fuck all despite Ethan _literally_ being one. 

_Where the hell is the necronomicon when you fucking need it?_

Her pace quickened. 

_...would it be weird to look him up?_

She had her phone in her pocket, and a decent amount of data she could burn through looking for him, and it wasn’t like he _wouldn’t_ show up there. Even if it was just an article on how he’d kicked the bucket, it’d be _something_ that she _probably_ hadn’t known before. 

And he _clearly_ wasn’t going to talk about it with her. That shit was made pretty damn clear since day one of him hanging around— he’d borderline had a fucking breakdown when she’d gone and mentioned it, which was fair, dying was _probably_ pretty traumatizing— and that was fine. She could deal with him not telling her things. That wasn’t the part that got under her skin— it was the fact that he knew so much about _her_. 

Which wasn’t fair. 

At all.

Her legs seemed to have switched into autopilot as she kept up the quick pace and rounded the next corner, barely lifting her head before stepping out onto the concrete, though her footsteps slowed as she made it to the next section of the sidewalk. After all, there wasn’t a rush. 

Paul and Emma could put up with Ethan by themselves for a little while. 

_Not like it’ll kill them or anything._

Was it wrong to laugh at that?

Chewing idly on her lip, fingers already back to tapping at her leg, breath clouding around her despite the fact that her cigarette was smeared on the sidewalk a half block back, Lex used the hand that wasn’t twitching to idly fiddle with her phone. 

_...this is my break from him._

_I shouldn’t be spending it thinking_ of _him._

It sort of defeated the whole purpose of being able to take a few minutes to be _away_ from him, fuck’s sake, but she couldn’t help it.

What the fuck was he even _playing_ at?

What the fuck was _she_ even playing at?

Falling asleep beside him? Fucking _cuddling_ him? 

The sheer thought alone was enough to make her features scrunch up in displeasure and her pace slow to a crawl. She couldn’t deny it— it _was_ what had happened. She’d had a fucked up dream, he’d been there when she’d woken up, she’d held him, he’d held her, and in the morning… they’d still been wrapped up in a halfway embrace. His tail had been coiled around her leg. His wing had been folded just over her like a blanket. One of her arms had been slung lazily over his stomach.

And in the seconds it took her to wake up fully, before that haze that had clouded her vision lifted, she’d actually gone and squeezed him just a little bit tighter, which was _embarrassing as hell—_ though she was fairly certain he’d been too asleep to actually notice. 

Which was _way_ better than the alternative— the alternative being him actually _knowing_ that she hadn’t even minded—

_No._

She stopped. 

Her shoulders drew upward just slightly. 

_Oh, we’re not going down that fucking rabbit hole._

She’d been half asleep. She’d been scared. She’d been woozy and tired— hell, he’d probably just wanted to suck the energy right out of her for as long as possible like the leech he was. 

That was the only plausible explanation.

At her side, her fingers curled into a fist, bunching up the fabric of her hoodie before releasing it.

The hand in her pocket clenched her phone a little tighter, and after a moment of indecision—

_Fuck it._

—Lex drew it back out into the cold and brought it closer to her face, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The cold chill in the air caused her hair to whip a little at her face even when she ducked her head and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, trying to figure out what to even type.

_Just start simple._

**Ethan Green.**

That would _probably_ get her the result she was looking for. After all, there couldn’t be _that_ many Ethan Greens out there, though after a second spent considering, she added another word.

**Ethan Green Hatchetfield.**

_That’ll do it._

There may have been more than one Ethan Green, but there was only one shithole town with that stupid of a name— and as far as Lex knew, only one idiot _in_ said town using that name. 

For a split second before pressing the search button, she hesitated.

... _would_ it be a breach of privacy?

Googling somebody was fucking _weird._ She hadn’t done it before or anything— only herself, once, and all that had come up was a page on Lex Luthor— which really went to show that it _was_ kind of invasive, but at the same time… this _was_ Ethan. 

And he _was_ dead. 

Like. Fucking _dead_ dead. 

Googling him… 

Dragging her fingers through her hair and stopping once more in the middle of the sidewalk, eyebrows drawing sharply together and eyes narrowing on the search bar, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. 

It… wouldn’t be any more invasive than like… reading an obituary, right?

Yeah.

Definitely not.

That in mind, she maneuvered herself over to one of the trees that had been planted about a year ago in a desperate attempt to liven up the town (didn’t work) and braced her shoulder against it before hitting enter.

The headlines were all what she expected. Her fingers were a little stiff from the cold as she carefully scrolled through them, cupping her phone against another blast of icy air— _probably gonna be a power outage later_ — and squinting through the hair that seemed determined to get into her eyes and mouth.

They all seemed the same.

**Local Teen Murdered.**

**Black Friday— marketplace murder.**

**Holiday turns tragic with the demise of teenager Ethan Green.**

**Young man found dead— no suspects yet found in the Black Friday murder of Ethan Green.**

She scrolled a little faster.

**Murder.**

Faster.

**Ethan Green.**

Most of the headlines had the name of the holiday next to them— probably to capitalize on relevant searches— alongside words like “tragic” and “stabbing” and “fatal”.

**No suspects apprehended in the Green murder case.**

A chill wound down her spine that she couldn’t blame on the breeze. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

_Fuck, they never even caught the guy._

Her stomach twisted. 

Scrolling deeper into the results, fingers of her free hand tapping faster with every headline that she scanned, Lex finally settled on one of the ones with a later date— last November— and tapped on it. 

It took a moment to load, but when it did, the image that popped up was one that made her heart twist. She could barely focus on the headline beneath it. It was almost like she’d forgotten how to read, because smiling up at her with a crooked grin and crinkly eyes was _Ethan Green,_ one of his arms slung tight around someone who’d been cropped out of the frame, the other holding up his hand in a lazy peace sign— signature one leather glove highlighted by what looked to be a flash from a camera. 

The person next to him— what she could see of them— was wearing a greenish flannel. 

His face looked flushed— the kind that came with being out in the cold. 

His mouth looked wrong without his fangs. 

The fact that his curls weren’t parted to make room for his horns was _weird_. 

...it was probably more weird that she was used to seeing him that way— hell, even the fact that his pupils were circles instead of slits was nothing short of fucking _unnatural_ despite the fact that slit pupils weren’t something she saw often. 

_You look at him enough at home._

Her gaze snapped to the text beneath the photo. 

**Local Teen Tragically Stabbed**

**Ethan Green, an attendee of Hatchetfield High, was found dead at the Lakeview Shopping Center at 9:32 PM, November 29th. There were no witnesses to the event, and no suspects have been apprehended. The crowded mall was a perfect cover for what police are saying was a brutal stabbing, and although paramedics tried to save him, by the time they arrived at the scene, he was already gone, having sustained multiple injuries including one stab wound to the back, several kicks and punches to the ribs and head, along with a hard fall.**

**The motive for the act is one that hasn’t yet been determined. Most speculators believe this was not a targeted attack.**

**Whatever the reason for the event, Ethan will surely be missed by the community, by his friends, by his family— especially Tony Green (his father) and Henry Hidgens (his uncle)— and by all those who never got the chance to meet him before his untimely demise.**

**Local officers say…**

She stopped reading. 

She couldn’t make out the words anymore. 

The words on the screen were shaking. Her _hand_ was shaking, and as she quickly stuffed her phone into her pocket and blew out a sharp breath through her teeth, something in her chest pulled taut and twisted back and forth. 

She’d been by the autoshop. 

The _Green family_ autoshop— the building with the somewhat rusted sign and hand-painted lettering. The building with the green painted garage doors and somewhat dilapidated appearance, though nobody seemed to mind, seeing as it was the workplace of the only capable mechanic in Hatchetfield. 

The now _abandoned_ autoshop. 

She vaguely remembered where it _had_ been, and she remembered the man who’d run it— a scruffy haired older guy with a bright blue baseball cap that would blare the radio whenever the summer days stretched into long summer nights. He’d all but provided the soundtrack for every time her and Alice had been able to get together— with Lex sneaking out late and Alice promising she’d be back before ten— and she owed him that much, at least. 

The name on the screen— _Tony Green_ — felt almost familiar. 

The name of some guy that had packed up shop without a word and left Hatchetfield a quieter place. The name of some guy she owed a shouted, half-tipsy shout-along session with Alice to some song she couldn’t recall the name of, not that it really mattered. 

_Poor dude probably couldn’t take it…_

Her weight shifted. 

Her shoulder dug a little harder into the tree’s bark, and after a moment, she stuck her fingers back in her pocket and withdrew the pack of cigarettes from where she’d left them. They were _her_ lungs to destroy, and in her defence, she almost felt like she _needed_ one, though it took her three tries to get the damn thing to light up. 

It felt like she was burning up from the inside out when she inhaled the warm smoke, but it didn’t stop her from doing it a few more times and then stepping off the damp grass and onto the concrete once more. 

In the back of her mind, the image of Ethan smiling flickered in time with the cherry at the end of her cig. 

Along with a name. 

She knew _of_ Tony Green. That was nothing new.

But Henry Hidgens?

 _That_ sounded like the name of a fucking mad scientist or some weird ass comic-book villian and as Lex began to close the distance between her and her home, it echoed through her head. 

_Henry Hidgens._

God. 

Who the fuck even _was_ that?

* * *

He couldn’t get it out of his head. 

It was just one word. 

Just one little word. 

Just one little word murmured into a conversation that would’ve made a blush rise to his cheeks had he been properly alive— and one word that Hannah had _probably_ already forgotten about.

Not that Paul could forget, even though he was trying to. 

It was one that made his chest feel tight and his already barely-there grip on the plate he was washing threaten to disappear, the porcelain dipping in and out of his hands to a point where he could _feel_ the presence of it falling into his skin before being forced back out whenever he managed to regain the concentration his brain seemed fucking determined to let go of. 

All he could think was that one word.

_Should._

It seemed to pound through his veins in place of a heartbeat. 

_Should._

The box in his back pocket felt heavy. 

_Should._

Behind him, the light flickered, causing the soap bubbles crowding the sink to shimmer on his hands and Emma to raise her eyebrows. 

“What’re you thinking about?”

The plate he’d been focusing on holding slid through his fingers and into the water. 

“N-Nothing!” 

“Nothing?” Emma echoed, slowly. 

He gave a nod in response. 

The light buzzed. 

He couldn’t meet her eyes. If he _did_ , she’d know. 

Though she probably did already, thanks to the flickering of the light behind him growing more and more intense as he fumbled to find the plate— though the fact that his fingers were dipping through the bottom of the sink _really_ wasn’t helping him. He’d gotten better at being able to tell where things were when he wasn’t entirely _present_ in the moment— there was always a weird sensation that would make him feel almost as though pins and needles were sticking through his skin— but the feeling of water but not really water, water that didn’t actually dampen his sleeves, was throwing him off. 

It was _wrong._

From the way it looked, his suit jacket _should’ve_ been at least a _little_ wet, seeing as he was up to the elbows in sudsy water, but whenever he pulled his hands out of the sink, they didn’t do so much as drip. 

The bloodstain on his sleeve didn’t spread. 

Beside him, Emma furrowed her brow.

“Did you lose the plate or something?”

Paul blinked. “What?

“Wow, you really _were_ thinking of nothing, huh? What are you, a goldfish?” With the drainboard clear of other dishes and the cutlery put _mostly_ in the right slots— Emma had reorganized it so it actually made sense after trying three times to put the forks to where they once were— she moved away from where she’d been floating and laid on her back in midair. 

“Goldfish are wet, Emma,” he pointed out.

From the living room— tucked just out of his line of sight but still in Emma’s if he had to guess from the way that she turned her head toward him— Ethan snorted. 

“Say that again, but slower,” the demon prompted. 

“ _No_ —” Emma started, though before she could get out her next word, Paul opened his mouth. 

Narrowing his eyes and sticking his head around the corner, Paul’s shoulder clipped through the wall. Sure enough, the demon was lazing on the couch, one wing dragging on the ground, the other one draped over the back of the couch.

The two met eyes. 

Ethan’s lips lifted in a challenging smirk. 

Paul’s pressed together in a thin line. 

“Ethan, I _literally_ don’t get wet anymore,” he huffed out, brows pulled downward in irritation, ready to say more before—

_Oh._

_Oh, did I just—_

Ethan’s expression _crumpled_ . Fangs flashing, eyes crinkling at the corners, stomach heaving momentarily with a quick breath, the demon let out a _hoot_ of laughter and brought a hand down sharply to the arm of the couch. 

_“SAY THAT AGAIN BUT SLOWER!”_ He repeated, voice thick with laughter— and this time, Emma made no effort to stop him.

“ _Jesus_ , Paul,” she managed to get out through a wheeze, “what the hell were you _thinking—_ ”

“Nothing!” Paul weakly defended, the nearest light— the half-gone one hanging a few feet away from him— flashing brightly in a way that made it painfully obvious that he _wasn’t_ , in fact, thinking about nothing.

He was thinking about _Emma._

Who was the exact opposite of _nothing_. Even though she was laughing at him and had slipped through the wall, rolling her eyes at the fact that Ethan was in stitches before joining him once again, her own laugh being added to his rough sounding chuckles.

It was a pretty sound.

One he was hearing more and more often, and one that made his own lips twitch upward even though it was at his expense. “I _was_ thinking nothing!”

Focusing all his attention on keeping the light from flickering too much, Paul kept an eye on Emma as she drifted closer before bumping their shoulders together. 

His hand fell to hers. 

Their fingers twined. 

She was the only thing that really felt solid anymore. 

She wasn’t like the plate that had slid through his hand like water down a drain, her palm was _solid_ against his, and as he traced his thumb over the back of her hand, a soft tingling feeling fell over him— not the pins and needles that accompanied moving through walls. 

“You’re a dumbass,” she remarked.

From on the couch, Ethan rolled his eyes at them and gave a last bit of a laugh before sitting up, slinging his tail over his ankle. “Yeah, what else is new?” He remarked, leaning just a little forward. “I mean, he’s kind of a—”

“Hey,” Emma interrupted, squeezing Paul’s hand tightly, “only _I_ get to insult Paul.”

Paul’s chest puffed up just a little. _Ha_. She was defending him. 

Exasperation leaving his face, he turned his head to Emma and offered a smile. “ _Thank you_ , Emma—”

_Wait._

His nose wrinkled. 

“ _—Emma!”_

When she doubled over with laughter, she kept her hand in his— tugging on it lightly and causing him to bend with her to keep them connected, earning another somewhat annoyed looking expression from Ethan.

“Yeah, see, but you’re _not_ insulting him— you’re totally fucking flirting.” 

_What?_

Paul’s head shot up. 

Emma’s laughter stopped. 

Her expression changed. 

_I mean… he’s right._

It wasn’t something Paul would admit he knew, and from the way Emma was reacting, he knew he wasn’t _supposed_ to know, but it was pretty easy to see. It was something he’d noticed about her right away. She was always quick to spit fire, sure, but when it came to people she cared about… the flames were less scalding. 

More of a harsh warmth than something meant to burn. 

He’d heard most of her insults— though hearing them directed at _other_ people was always different, because that was when they were _actually_ insults.

With him? 

...was it weird that they were pretty much pet names?

Turning his eyes to Emma as she opened and closed her mouth incredulously a few times, Paul bit his cheek to hide a smile when she finally spoke up. 

“I—” 

“Just admit it,” Ethan continued, smugly, “ _you_ get to _flirt_ with Paul, _I_ get to _insult_ him. Only fair.” His position on the couch changed as he spoke, his posture turning more relaxed as Emma’s turned more rigid. 

“Uh, _no_?” 

“How’s that _not_ fair?”

“You get cool wings and horns and a tail!” 

A groan pulled from Ethan’s lips. “Well, _yeah_ ,” he agreed, dragging his claws through his hair, “but all that shit’s just a hassle. Insulting Paul is at least _practical_ , y’know?” 

Paul’s brows drew together. “It’s practical?” He repeated, confusedly, though his voice was lost in Emma giving a sharp scoff. 

“You can _fly.”_

“You’re _literally_ hovering right now.” 

Emma rolled her eyes. With her free hand, she gestured toward the wings halfway folded behind him. “You got _wings_ though!” 

_“Yeah_ , and I had to spend a year—” 

He stopped. 

Something on his face changed. 

That playful light in his eyes faded, and although it was subtle, Paul watched as his hands fell into his lap and squeezed at each other. His tail uncurled from where it had been wrapped around his forearm, falling to twitch beside him on the couch. 

“...not existing,” he finished after a sigh, “to get ‘em. Honestly I think I got kinda fucked over. Being a ghost sounds a _lot_ better than being a demon if I’m bein’ honest. Less commitment, y’know? Less shit to do. You two can just kind of… I dunno, do whatever it is you do— _not_ get wet or whatever.” 

There was something off about the way he said it. 

Paul didn’t really _know_ Ethan all that well, but his tone was too flat for the joke he was trying to make— too clipped. _Bitter_ , almost, bitter in a way that made Paul’s cautious smile slip into a nervous sort of frown. 

Emma coughed slightly. 

The hand in his stiffened. 

Automatically, Paul offered a soft squeeze of reassurance, turning his head and watching as her expression lifted just a little. 

The conversation stalled. 

Just for a second. 

Just long enough for Paul to raise his free hand to fidget with his tie and for Ethan to wind his tail around his wrist, though before it could get properly awkward, Emma spoke up. 

“... _yeah_ , though you can’t really _not_ get wet in Hatchetfield. Rains all the time, y’know?” 

Paul’s smile returned. 

“Not as much as Clivesdale, though,” he pointed out as Emma drifted closer to Ethan— Emma sitting on the couch beside him and Paul joining soon after. 

“Oh, yeah, _fuck_ Clivesdale,” Emma agreed. 

“Fuck ‘em.” 

Beside Emma, Ethan shuffled over to make room for the pair of them and ran his claws once more through his hair. The end of his tail twitched ever so slightly. 

Paul bit the inside of his cheek.

_There’s something off about him._

He couldn’t exactly claim to know how teenage boys worked despite having been one, and he _definitely_ couldn’t claim to know how a demonic teenager that had spent a year “not existing” worked, but he’d been around Ethan… almost long enough to know that the way he was acting was wrong. 

He’d been acting wrong all morning, and if he was being honest, he’d been acting wrong last night, too, but… 

The way he’d looked when he’d bolted from the table was just another thing Paul’s mind had latched onto. The _fear_ in his eyes. The _panic_ when he’d croaked out Lex’s name and shot off down the hall like a bolt of lightning— it completely countered the usually somewhat smug look he wore, and all morning, he’d just been… weird. 

Not that he’d say anything about it.

That would probably be weirder. 

Instead, Paul used his free hand to push the knot of his tie just a little closer to his throat and squeezed Emma’s hand.

She leaned closer against his side in response.

 _Should_ , Hannah’s voice echoed in his head. 

_Already act like it._

He couldn’t even deny the claim.

...he didn’t even _want_ to. 

Slowly, his hand slid from his tie to his back pocket. 

The small shape of the box was still there. 

It always was. 

_Should._

He didn’t. 

He never did. 

Never _had_ . He’d _had_ a chance, and he’d blown it— or divine intervention had blown it by destroying both the woman he’d fallen for _and_ him in one fell swoop. 

It was _probably_ a sign. The marriage was _probably_ destined to fail. In all honesty, dying might’ve been a good thing, if it meant he’d been able to avoid the heartache that would’ve come along with Emma saying no—

_Won’t._

—it was better to not think about it.

After all, it wasn’t like he was about to drop on one knee _now_ and offer her a box. They were stuck together anyway, right? 

_Should._

He pushed the thought away. Instead, he slung his free arm over Emma’s shoulders and gave a soft smile when she leaned further into his embrace. 

“ _God_ ,” he grumbled, “how come _they_ couldn’t have gotten a meteor? I don’t think anyone would’ve really minded.” 

“Their sky’s too full,” Ethan interjected, raising one hand in a broad gesture and letting his tail slip down to the floor, “too much fuckin’ rain— pushed the meteor over to Hatchetfield, probably.” 

Emma gave a laugh. “So I _can_ blame them for getting my legs crushed!” Looking down at her legs— legs that still made Paul’s stomach twist when he saw the exposed muscle and bone there— she used her free hand to lightly tap her thigh. “Just another reason to hate them. _Fuck_ being dead, and _double_ fuck Clivesdale for _making_ me dead with their shitty weather. Fuckers.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Paul agreed, “Clivesdale murdered the both of us.”

“Murdered by Clivesdale.”

“Could've been murdered _in_ Clivesdale though, that would’ve been worse.” 

“Oh, yeah, that would’ve _sucked_.” 

“Murdered by Clivesdale _in_ Clivesdale.”

“ _Fuck_ , oh my _god_ , _no thank you,_ that’s where I draw the line.” 

Beside her, Ethan cocked his head. “At being murdered in Clivesdale?” He asked, smirking, “or _by_ Clivesdale?” 

“ _Yes._ ” 

Silence fell. 

Paul’s brow furrowed. 

“That’s not a real answer, Em—”

Under his arm, Emma burst into giggles and nuzzled a little closer, effectively stopping his words in one fell swoop. “ _Both_ are bad, Paul,” she clarified, using her free hand to push at his chest. 

His thumb ran over the back of her hand. 

She squeezed in return. 

_Should_ , Hannah’s voice rang in his ears. 

...for a second, he allowed himself to think it was true. 

_Fiancés,_ not friends. That’s what they’d be— curled up on the couch of their new home, chatting idly about the meteor that had barely missed them and how lucky they were that he’d proposed _before_ the Shakespeare play.

She’d lay up against him like she was doing now, and look up at him with that same soft expression, the one with half-lidded eyes and her little smile that always seemed just a tad crooked, and then—

Ethan huffed under his breath. “ _Right_ , as much as I love third wheeling to a couple of dead idiots,” he started, slowly moving to stand and stretch— huge wings unfurling on his back in a motion that left Paul more than a little aware of his height. “I’m gonna go find Lex. Haven’t _actually_ gotten a chance to fly, and there’s no fucking way she’s _just_ dropping off Hannah if she’s taking this goddamn long.”

Against Paul’s chest, Emma sat up a little straighter, smirking at Ethan’s back. “Careful, Green, sounds like you care.”

Ethan paused.

His tail flicked.

His wings drew upward and toward the light that had _finally_ stopped flickering, the dim glow highlighting the veins and lines running through the red membranes. 

“...I’m gonna ignore that, actually,” he finally spoke up before stuffing his hands into his pockets and making for the door.

Paul’s eyebrows pinched together. “...aren’t you supposed to stay here?” He asked, though Ethan waved a hand dismissively. 

“Nah. She didn’t ask me to, so…” Pausing for a moment, Ethan bit down on the inside of his cheek before snapping his fingers. “I’m free to fly!” He finished, looking more than a little proud of himself for finding the expression. 

“Can you even do that?”

The demon shrugged. His wings bobbed with the motion. “I did a little last week,” he explained as he made his way to the door, “but not very far. Probably be good for me. Exercise or whatever.”

Emma snorted. “Wouldn’t getting exorcised kill you?”

“A little exercise never hurt anyone.” 

“An exorcism though?” Emma pressed. 

Ethan’s face twisted slightly. “Ain’t that what I—“

It clicked.

His confused expression dropped into one of irritation. 

“ _—oh my fucking god, I’m leaving.”_

Paul brought a hand to his face to keep from laughing. Against his side, he could feel Emma quaking under the force of her own giggles, and just before Ethan left— body out the door and tail trailing weakly behind him— she found her words.

“Try not to get exorcised.”

The tail stopped.

Flicked.

A heavy sigh cut through the air. 

“Fuck you,” Ethan grumbled, the sound of his voice growing fainter as Emma continued to call out to him.

“I mean it! Lex would be pissed—“

“ _Goodbye,_ Emma _._ Have fun _not_ being wet or whatever.”

The door swung shut before she could say anything else.

For the first time in weeks, the two were alone. 

Silence fell.

A comfortable kind— one that left Paul holding Emma closer against his side and moving one of his legs just so their knees brushed together. 

“...hi,” Paul greeted.

Emma leaned back further against him. The back of her head brushed against his chest, and when she tipped her head back and met his eyes, a small, flyaway strand of hair hung past her beanie.

_Should._

“Heya, dork,” she returned, 

The insult held no malice.

_Should._

“I can’t believe you told him not to get exorcised,” Paul murmured after a small pause spent shifting his weight, “I mean—“

“It’s a genuine caution!” She sputtered, swatting his chest, “not my fault if he _does_ get exorcised, now. Had to cover my bases, y’know? I meant it when I said Lex would be pissed if he just disappeared, nevermind what he’s gotta be doing to her mother. Something about him’s changed.”

_Thank god._

_I’m not being weird by noticing._

Tilting his head, Paul watched as Emma settled back down with her back to his chest and squeezed gently at her fingers. “You think?”

“Yeah, like, last night? When he was with Lex? Did you hear him? It sounded like he was _actually_ helping her, it was… I don’t wanna say cute, but…” trailing off, Emma threaded her fingers through her hair and sighed quietly. “I dunno, it might all just be an act, but… he seemed pretty genuine.”

Paul hummed in agreement. “Yeah, something changed, I think.”

He wasn’t sure what, but from what he could gather, it’d been a pretty big change— one that had led him to leave Ethan alone with Lex, and one that had caused Emma to do the same thing once she’d seen the way he was acting, though acting might not have been the right word, because it had seemed almost like he wasn’t pretending. 

Like he was really trying to help her.

And to his credit, it must’ve worked, because when he’d checked up on the pair of them, Lex had been holding him like she was scared he’d disappear.

“A good something,” Emma added, breaking him out of his thoughts. ”I mean, he’s acting more like a fucking person and less like some… I dunno, charade? Is that the word?”

Paul frowned. “Caricature, maybe?” He tried, earning a nod.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it— less like a caricature, more like an actual person. It…”

Again, she trailed off into a sigh.

“...It’s kinda nice, actually.”

“You think so?”

Emma scoffed. “ _Well_ , it’s better than getting thrown into walls like a fucking rag doll by his—“ she raised one hand, curling her fingers down in what Paul assumed were supposed to be claws, and waved it back and forth through the air“—freaky demon powers.”

_Oh._

Instinctively, he loosened his hold on her. Concern flashed across his face.

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that—” He got a few inches into lifting his arm away from her before she grabbed his wrist and forced him to stay put, 

“Paul, that was nearly two weeks ago—“

“Well, _yeah,”_ he sputtered, raising one hand to drag through his hair, “but it _was_ a demon thing— are you _sure_ you’re alright? Usually you would’ve just gone through the wall, so I—”

A sound interrupted him.

A gentle laugh.

One that called him to turn his head back down to the person curled halfway against his chest— _Emma_ — who was wearing a soft, almost endeared expression. One of her hands slid up his front, and when his breath hitched, she gave a small smirk. 

“It’s cute when you worry,” she murmured as her fingers continued to creep up toward the collar of his shirt. 

Paul’s eyebrows raised. 

“I—“ He started, though again, Emma interrupted him— this time with a small tug to his tie. 

“Just take this one, Matthews.” 

He couldn’t help a small laugh at that.

“Am I cute when I do other things?” He asked after a moment’s silence. 

Emma rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, like right now— how you’re being a shithead?”

 _That’s a pet name_.

He didn’t get time to comment before Emma’s lips were on his.

Even though his heart didn’t beat anymore, he could’ve sworn he felt it flutter. 


	22. not breaking a sweat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for: mild gore and body horror (injury related), alongside broken bones.

Flying was actually really fucking difficult. 

It _shouldn’t_ have been. He had wings for a reason— and the damn things were always getting in his way to a point where he had to actually compensate for them whenever he did so much as _breathe_ indoors— they were _supposed_ to be used, and they were _supposed_ to work. 

It shouldn’t have been so fucking hard.

He didn’t get tired anymore, he was pretty damn in shape if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t super heavy, _and_ he had the wind at his back— he didn’t have any reason for it _not_ to be a simple-ish task. 

Except for, apparently, every reason, because he _might_ have overestimated himself. 

Like. 

_Greatly_ , seeing as he’d barely been able to get off the _ground_ for more than a few seconds before the concrete had been _way_ too close for comfort and he’d smashed against it like a bug on a windshield, which had sucked _ass_ , though it was _probably_ better than hanging around Paul and Emma while they… did whatever it was they did. 

_Not_ get wet. 

Head down, wings folded tight, tail whipping back and forth across the sidewalk, Ethan gave a soft huff and rolled his eyes at the mere _thought_ of the pair of them— sickeningly sweet and cuddling on the couch like a teenage couple at the movies.

He should know.

He’d had to chase out _so_ many horny teens when he’d worked at Cineplex, and he’d only held the job for a _week_ before he’d been fired and replaced by some snot-nosed kid with a nails-on-a-chalkboard voice who wasn’t _half_ as good at selling shows as he’d been. 

...though he was _probably_ better at being approachable. 

Fucker. 

_Probably still works there, too._

_Maybe he’s a manager, now._

The thought alone was enough to make a huff work its way up from his throat. 

_God_ , now he had _two_ things to be upset about— his inability to get off the ground for more than five seconds without eating shit and having to feel parts of his face knitting back together, _and_ the fact that some nasally fuck was out there doing his old job better than he’d ever done it. 

Raising a hand and pressing the side of his head, Ethan pushed his tongue up against the back of his teeth at the sensation of feeling his claws dipping _into_ the exposed flesh on the side of his head rather than just stopping at his skin where they _normally_ would, had he not just about cracked his skull open like a freaking egg. 

Just about. 

He’d more… _skidded_ across the sidewalk than _smashed_ against the sidewalk. 

On his face.

For several feet. 

From a height _of_ several feet, which would’ve been a disgusting scene for some bystander to find if he still bled. 

Which he didn’t. 

The closing wound was still weirdly _damp_ under his fingertips and left him with a tingling, itchy sensation that made it feel as though a bunch of tiny little ant legs were being forced up through his skin from within to fold into a thin layer of netting that pulled back— leaving his skin feeling too taut until another mess of legs would push up from beneath it and the whole damn cycle would repeat. 

Which was a fucking gross visual.

_Ugh._

Great.

Just another thing to add to an already shitty morning. 

Like, he _knew_ he was dead and everything— he’d been fucked over all his life, what, getting stabbed at eighteen, yadda-freakin’-yadda— _whatever_ , but fucking him over in the _afterlife_ seemed… needlessly cruel on part of whatever was toying with him. 

God.

Satan.

Something in between.

Whatever had decided that the wind _had_ to change direction _just_ when he’d gotten a few feet higher than he could’ve stuck a landing from off the ground.

Behind him, his tail lashed. 

The wind felt _weird_ on his face. Wind wasn’t _supposed_ to touch the areas _under_ his skin, and even when he raised a hand to try blocking the breeze, the feeling of his fingers hovering just above the exposed muscle that was slowly rising to a more familiar shape enough to make him shudder involuntarily. 

_Ew._

Not a great feeling. 

Not even _close_ to a great feeling, though he hadn’t felt great since… well, _before_ he’d died. 

_...has anything even changed?_

A small part of him almost wanted to go look. Lex _probably_ wasn’t at the elementary school, after all, so there wouldn’t be much harm in doing a quick scout around town, just to see if the buildings were even still _standing_ , a certain, somewhat rusted shop coming to mind…

His walk slowed. 

His tail twitched a little more violently.

_...is dad still even here?_

It hadn’t crossed his mind until now. 

Moving slowly, he bit down on the inside of his cheek and chewed it lightly— not enough to damage the flesh there, not that it would _matter_. 

_Probably._

_He’d never wanted to leave, not really… sure, he talked about it, but…_

He shook the thought off as it came— literally giving his head a quick jolt back and forth— and kept walking. 

_He wouldn’t leave._

_He’s probably still here._

_Deb, too._

Tucking his claws into his jacket, struggling not to focus on the itch on his face and the spiral in his mind, Ethan grit his teeth.

_Don’t think about them._

He’d _literally_ seen Deb like, a _week_ ago— she was _definitely_ still living in Hatchetfield and _probably_ still banging Alice, and Alice’s father _probably_ still hated her guts just as much as he did _before_ Ethan had gone and keeled over. Deb was doing just fine without him, and his dad _probably_ was, too. 

_Probably._

He hoped so. 

_Fuck,_ _he better still be alive._

_My ol’ man’s got a long time left in him._

Lowering his head, he scuffed his heel against the pavement and bit down a little harder on his cheek. His claws shifted to his face, picking a little at the mostly closed over wound— the soft glint of his jawbone finally concealed by muscle like it was _supposed_ to be.

At least he hadn’t lost an eye.

That would’ve fucking sucked.

_Would I grow a new one? Or would I just have to go scoop up the old shit?_

_Stick it back in?_

_Fucking eyeball puree?_

Yet another thought he _really_ didn’t need to be having. Fuck. 

Ethan’s eyelids twitched. 

_Whatever._

_Just gotta find Lex._

He didn’t even really _need_ to find her— she hadn’t called to him or anything, but it had seemed like the more appealing option when it came down to either staying with the ghosts or _not_ doing that, so here he was. Walking. 

On his back, his wings fluttered ever so slightly. 

Automatically, his gaze tracked back to the sky that he’d fallen from, narrowed in caution. 

Trying to fly again really, _really,_ didn’t seem like the best idea, but then again, it wasn’t like he could die again or any shit like that— he’d just have a weird skin tingling feeling and that’d be the worst of it— the only real pain he’d been in had come from _Hannah_ of all fucking things, and he didn’t think she’d even _meant_ to hurt him, if her reaction was anything to go off of. 

_Not allowed_ , that was what she’d said before all but slamming the door in his fucking face, which would’ve been funny under pretty much any other circumstance because Hannah was like, the most mild mannered kid he’d ever met, only it _wasn’t_ under different circumstances, because it had _hurt._

There’d been a flash, then a fizzle, and then a _heat_ on his hand that felt like fucking _flames_ licking across his fingers— which must’ve had something to do with the contract if he had to take a guess. Those were the only rules he could recall being actually set, which… was honestly a little concerning.

It was probably better not to dwell on it. 

His face was _mostly_ healed up anyway, and last time, he'd tried to just flat jump and take off, which _hadn't_ worked, so maybe this time... 

_Running start._

He had enough room for one of those, right? There was a good amount of sidewalk left in front of him before the curb started— trees lining either side in a silent, yet somehow judging, audience— enough sidewalk that he could _definitely_ work himself up into a good sprint before the curb ended. 

Probably. 

_Okay._

He could do this. 

Lowering his head and squaring up his shoulders, Ethan took a moment to cautiously glance over his shoulder— _why are you doing that, they can’t see you, there’s nobody even there_ — before exhaling through his teeth and forcing his body to break into a light jog.

Faster.

A run.

Faster. 

A dash. 

_Faster._

A sprint. 

His tail whipped at his heels. His wings spread as wide as he could manage, and with a gust of wind at his front threatening to pick him up like an umbrella and his feet nearing the edge of the curb at a dangerous pace— Ethan _leapt_ into the air and _slammed_ his wings down in a heavy beat. 

His shoes lifted off the concrete. 

_Beat_.

The wind lifted him like a ragdoll, and although his form wobbled slightly and he had _no_ idea where to put his fucking hands, he was _up in the air._

Yeah, he looked fucking ridiculous, and yeah, his flannel was flapping at his waist like a shitty, halfway thought out cape, but he couldn’t give less of a shit, because he was _flying_. 

Clumsily, cautiously, like a baby bird just pushed out of the nest, Ethan slowly raised his head just a little higher and tried to unfurl his wings a little more— just like an oversize kite, his tail trailing behind him almost like a string, though it only seemed to be getting further and further away from the ground. 

He didn’t cast a shadow. 

His shape rose higher, headwind tugging lightly at his curls, tail swinging back and forth as a somewhat unbalanced rudder with every heavy movement from his wings— though it was turning to more of an angled glide, his back arching just enough to send him higher. 

It was a clearish morning for Hatchetfield. 

Clear as he could ever remember them being anyway, which _really_ wasn’t saying much, because Hatchetfield _was_ kinda known for shit weather— but it was _way_ better than Clivesdale had been last he’d been. 

His balance shook slightly, but he didn’t fall. Higher and higher he crept over the trees, and with every downward stroke of his wings, the ground dropped further and further beneath him. The trees were still a little too close to him for comfort, but another couple beats of his wings solved that problem, leaving him skirting just above their twisting branches. Leaves pulled free from where they were resting— knocked to the ground by gusts of wind his wings were content to trap and use as leverage to lift him higher by the second. 

_Fuck yeah!_

A smile flickered across his face. 

His wings stretched wider. 

_Beat._

It wasn’t the same as a pulse, but just for a moment, he let himself pretend as his wings pumped and sent him spiralling higher above Hatchetfield— high enough that the road seemed smaller and smaller by the second, the crisscrossed mesh of homes and sidewalks shrinking— not too much, _fuck_ going too high and mashing his nose right through the back of his head.

Just a cruising altitude. 

From above— not that he’d _seen_ it from above, so he was _sort_ of generalizing— it looked just like it had before. Run down, weatherbeaten, but for some _fucking reason_ , still standing despite it all.

His body angled upward. 

One of his clawed hands fell to his flannel, tugging on the knot tied in it— tied _tight_ , thank fuck, because the wind was _something else_ , probably thanks to the lack of blockage from… anything. Downtown Hatchetfield was a lot of things— a shithole, mainly— but built with tall buildings it was _not,_ leaving him exposed to every little breeze— though it _also_ gave him a spectacular view. 

Hatchetfield _also_ wasn’t spectacular, but in all honesty, being up that high made it easy to forget he _was_ in Hatchetfield. 

_...I should really be looking for—_

His gaze flicked downward. 

Like that, he spotted her. 

_Oh!_

There she fucking was— lurking like a typical stoner a few blocks away from the school with her hood drawn up and her hands tucked in her pockets— walking back toward the house with a slow step.

_Does she just have one speed?_

He knew she _could_ walk fast— she’d gotten good at doing it when the pair of them were holding hands and she wanted him to _fucking let go already,_ as she’d put it— but she didn’t look as though she was in all that much of a hurry. If anything, she was dragging her feet. 

_...fuck, she looks small from way up here._

Everything did, and Lex had never been the tallest person— _seriously_ , it made her _so_ much easier to intimidate— so from above, she looked like a small, slow-moving speck wearing a familiar dark denim jacket and keeping her head down. 

Angling his wings ever so slightly and twisting his tail, he began to circle downward. 

“Hey!” He crowed. 

Lex didn’t look up.

_Huh._

His body dipped lower to the ground. 

Lower, and see, _that_ was where he fucked up, because when he started to open up his wings once more to take in more air at a lower altitude— he clipped up against a tree. 

His stomach flipped. 

_Shit_ —

In an instant, gravity grabbed him, and it grabbed on _hard_ , sending him 

“Hey—”

He was moving too fast. 

_Oh._

Too fast to _stop._

_Oh shit._

“— _HEY, LEX, GET OUTTA THE FUCKING WAY—”_

She didn’t move fast enough. 

All she did was look up, and when she did, her expression shot from one of annoyance to one of alarm, which was _great_ , that meant she’d _seen_ him— not that it did anything to stop him, because the second she _did—_

Her eyes widened. 

Her mouth opened, though it didn’t matter, because in the second it took her to inhale—he slammed full-force into her chest with a damn near comical _oof_ noise. 

For a second, they were _both_ falling.

And then they both connected with the ground. 

Lex hit first.

Ethan hit second— _barely_ managing to stop himself from running her through with his horns.

His palms hit the grass on either side of her.

Something in his left arm snapped at the elbow. 

His claws sank into the dirt. 

He didn’t notice. 

Lex’s face was _inches_ from his own, and for a few seconds, all he could do was stare down at her— drinking in her wide-eyed, absolutely _shocked_ expression that he knew for a fact mirrored his own thanks to the feeling of his breaths coming sharply. 

Her face was red.

Probably from the chill, seeing as her nose and the ends of her ears were the same colour. 

His pupils contracted. 

His tail _streaked_ through the air behind him, lashing back and forth, and when he tried to get his breath, tried to think of what to even fucking _say_ after launching himself down at her like a heat-seeking missile, Lex’s face contorted into a look of _disgust,_ one of her hands raising to pull out her—

_Oh._

_Huh._

_That explains that._

— _earbuds_ with one hand. 

In return, Ethan offered a sheepish smile. 

_This is fucking awkward._

Her hair was splayed out around her head. 

Her breath clouded the air around his face. 

Her eyes darted across his face, and for a split second, he could practically _hear_ the wheels spinning in her head, trying to process what the _fuck_ had just happened as she tipped her chin toward her chest and gave a shaky exhale. 

“ _Ethan_?” 

Her voice quivered. 

Not fearfully.

_Dangerously._

Ethan swallowed.

“...yes, Lexie?” He responded with a tilt of his head, the use of the nickname enough to make her nostrils flare— _fuck._

“...what the _FUCK—”_ her hand connected with his chest when her volume spiked, shoving him _hard_ — hard enough that he nearly lost his balance, “—is _WRONG_ WITH YOU?” 

“Hey— woah— easy! I was just—”

“Following me?” She finished for him. “Fuck— get _off!”_

This time, when she shoved at him, he didn’t manage to keep his balance— his heart stuttering to life in his chest when her hands pressed against his jacket. 

It was beating too fast. 

It only did that for a second, but as Ethan pulled away and ended up on his knees, one of his hands shot to his chest, a sharp scoff tearing from his throat. 

“I— what? _No!”_

Lex was on her feet before he was. 

“No? Then what the hell are you— didn’t I tell you to stay home?”

Ethan followed a second after, hands raised defensively in front of him. “Again, _no_ — I just wanted to try out my wings a little!” Flaring them open for emphasis and running his fingers through his hair with an exasperated noise, he could _feel_ his tail starting to flick back and forth faster by the second. “I— I ain’t gotten many chances yet,” he continued, “so I was jus’ giving ‘em a test run to get away from Paul and Emma _before_ they start fucking on your couch.”

“I—” 

Lex blinked. 

“...they’re gonna fuck on my couch?”

Ethan’s head bobbed in a sharp nod. “Fucking looked like it, yeah, so maybe walk slow— or not, depending on what sort of stamina you think they have, I guess.” 

“That’s literally the last thing I want to be—”

She stopped. 

Her eyes widened a smidge. 

“...did you break your fucking arm?”

Ethan’s gaze flicked down to his side. “I—” He started, furrowing his brow, though he stopped himself when he saw the condition of his left arm where it hung. 

_Ah._

Where it hung _sideways—_ bent the wrong way at the elbow. 

“...maybe?” 

“ _Maybe?_ ” Lex echoed incredulously as he wiggled his hand experimentally, “how the hell didn’t you notice?”

When he shrugged, he felt his bones slide across each other under his skin— the jagged ends already attempting to fuse back together. “Didn’t hurt.”

He could practically _hear_ Lex raise her eyebrows.

“It didn’t—“ She started to repeat, though Ethan cut her off with a laugh. 

“Damn, s’there an echo in here or what?”

“I— _no_ , I was just asking—“

“Totally fine, Lexi,” he promised, plowing over her attempts to speak with a smirk, “but thanks for worrying. Was starting to think you didn’t care about me.” 

“I—”

“Wanna see?”

“ _No?”_

Coming up alongside her, Ethan lowered his head to her level and flicked his tail— already bringing one hand up to fumble with a zipper. It took him a moment to actually _grab_ the damn thing — _fucking claws_ — but the second he did, he was quick in unzipping it and pulling off the half of his jacket with the injury, earning a sharp, grating _crunch_ from under his skin. 

Lex _gagged_.

“Oh my _god_ —” She started, clapping a hand over her mouth and stopping dead in her tracks once more to gape at his injury. “—Ethan, that’s _disgusting!”_

A grin threatened to flit across his face.

His lips twitched. 

“Hey, it ain’t that bad!” 

Sure, the limb was twisted at a sharp angle to a point where _bone_ protruded from his elbow, the skin that still halfway clung to it doing so _just_ barely, like a half-torn wrapper letting some of the candy bar it was concealing show through, which was _gross_ , considering it was his arm— but he wasn’t about to fucking admit it. 

He was going to twist it. 

“Doesn’t even _hurt_ ,” he added, scampering after her the second she started to walk away from him— back to the quick pace he recognized. 

He matched it easily. 

“Doesn’t even _hurt—_ here, watch.”

When her gaze settled on his injury, Ethan took his claws, and with a sickening squelch, pushed the end of the bone back into the mess of muscle that had once been his elbow. 

The skin sealed up behind it. 

Lex looked like she was going to puke. 

“...that’s fucking _gross_ ,” she informed him after managing to pull her eyes, at which Ethan grinned.

“Hey— least it ain’t permanent,” he pointed out, twisting his arm just slightly. “Feels fuckin’ weird though—” cutting himself off, Ethan stepped a little closer to Lex and offered his arm— the skin still twitching just slightly from the shapes of his bones slowly, slowly settling back into place. “—here, feel.”

Lex’s brows pinched together. “Excuse me?” 

Sighing, he moved closer still, and after a pause, grabbed her hand and set it on his arm.

Just so he could see the look of absolute _disgust_ that shot across her face when the bone set back into place and _crunched_ under her fingers. Just so she could gag and almost immediately pull away in horror.

Not because it made his heart beat for just a few moments longer. 

* * *

Switching from working at a hospital to working at a middle school wasn’t all that big of a change as far as Becky Barnes was concerned.

Sure, there had been the change in uniform— something more casual than beaten up blue scrubs— and there’d been a _lot_ more noises to get used to than she’d anticipated, but all things considered, there were tons of worse places she could’ve wound up working in a town like Hatchetfield— and in all honesty, the hospital was one of them.

The injuries she’d seen in the hospital were ones that had made her stomach turn and still flickered into her dreams at night. The worst she’d seen at Hatchetfield Middle School had been one kid who’d nearly lost an eye thanks to a fight with sticks— some game pretending to be “starship rangers”, as he’d claimed while Becky had worked on patching him up. 

_Usually,_ the injuries weren’t that bad.

 _Usually,_ all she needed was some sturdy gauze, some colourful bandaids, a candy to distract the kid with— a cup of water if they were crying, because that always made them stop— and they’d be good to go. 

She had her regular kids— like Draco, with his near chronic nosebleeds, or the daughter from that family that had moved from Oregon who always had skinned knees and a story to match them— the kids that would always come in… maybe once a week at worst. Once every _two_ weeks at best— and that went without mentioning that girl, _Zazzalil,_ who would show up having started a fight with any of the schoolyard boys with Jemilla, her partner in crime, in tow, ready with an explanation and a sheepish apology that Zazzalil would shush her for. 

Yes, Becky Barnes had regulars.

She _also_ had Hannah Foster, who… had a category all to her own, seeing as she was in Becky’s office almost every other day it seemed, head hung low and gaze trained on her sneakers as though she’d be scolded for doing so much as look up. 

She always came in with minor injuries. 

Bruises, skinned knees, once a nasty looking shiner… she always claimed to be clumsy. 

Emphasis on the word _claimed_ , because as much as Becky didn’t think Hannah was a _liar_ … there was _no_ way the kid just “tripped” as much as she said she did, and tripping didn’t normally leave bruises on faces— not unless she tripped _into_ something, which she claimed she had. 

Several times. 

So when a flash of familiar yellow caught Becky’s eye through the window of her office, she didn’t need to do so much as look up to know _exactly_ which kid it belonged to, though of course, she did, reassuring smile already on her face before the door handle turned. 

Per usual, Hannah didn’t say a word upon coming in, but that was alright. 

Becky spoke for her. “Hello, Hannah,” she chirped, sitting up a little straighter at her desk. “What brings you here so early after the bell?” 

_Didn’t class only start a few minutes ago?_

Her head tilted slightly to the left, brow creasing just a little as Hannah only shuddered in response and scuffed her heel against the ground— both hands pressed tightly against her face. 

_That’s not good._

In her head, warning bells rang. 

“...Hannah?” She tried again, a little softer this time. One of her hands moved to rest on top of her desk, palm pushing flat against it as she slowly stood and moved closer to the child where she stood, shivering. 

“Hey, I know talking might be a little hard for you right now— can you nod for me, sweetheart?” 

Hannah sniffled, but after a moment, her head jerkily bobbed up and down, hands not leaving her face for a moment. 

_...bruise maybe?_

The thought made her heart sink. 

“...can I touch you?”

A shake. 

No. 

Beck nodded in response. “Okay,” she murmured, “well, can you come and sit up here?” Gesturing to the examination table, a fresh sheet of paper already pulled across its surface. “Just so I can take a look, okay?” 

Hannah shuffled her feet, and after a long moment spent in silence, she raised her head just slightly to meet Becky’s eyes through her bangs, scrutinizing her for a few seconds in a way that Becky was nearly used to. 

She never bothered asking why Hannah did it. 

Instead, she crouched slowly down to her level and offered a gentle smile. “It’s alright, Hannah,” she promised. “I just need to know what happened—”

“Nothing!” Hannah blurted, and after shakily inhaling and sniffling once more, keeping her hands clamped firmly over her nose and mouth, she blinked a few times and moved toward the examination table. “...tripped,” she added in a voice that barely rose above a whisper. One of her hands slid from her face, hitting the examination table with a soft _crunch_ of paper crinkling before the rest of her followed. 

Her legs swung, heels tapping the side of the table repeatedly. 

Becky’s heart sank.

_...again?_

She didn’t ask the question. Instead, she offered Hannah a soft sigh. “Alright, well, that’s no good, is it?”

Hannah shook her head. “No…” she answered, legs starting to swing just a little harder. 

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The paper under her crinkled slightly. 

“Can you tell me where it hurts?” 

Hannah tensed. Her shoulders shivered, though she took a shuddering breath in, swallowed hard, and raised her head— letting her hands fall from her face at the same time. 

Crimson dripped from her nose. 

Her shoulders shuddered, and with her next breath, her voice wobbled, teary eyes flicking up to Becky’s. “ _There_ ,” she dutifully reported, before a sharp sob escaped her throat. 

Becky moved closer without thinking. 

“Oh— oh you poor dear!” She sputtered, _barely_ managing to keep her hands off Hannah with her instincts kicking in the way they did— _she doesn’t want to be touched, I can respect that_ — Becky raised her hands and curled them into fists at shoulder level, quickly looking over the injury.

_Shit._

_Swelling, heavy bleeding— possible break—_

She unfroze the second Hannah broke into another whimper. 

_Okay._

She could deal with this. 

Taking a short breath in, Becky turned on a heel and reached for the paper towel just next to Hannah’s head in a dispenser, wadding up a good amount in a hand before offering it to the sniffling child, who gingerly took it in her hands and pressed it to her bloodied face, hands shaking profusely. 

One of her sleeves— a small patch on her wrist— was _heavily_ stained, the dark shade sticking out like a sore thumb on the yellow fabric. 

She tried not to dwell on it. 

_It’ll wash out._

“Alright, Hannah, I need you to pinch right above your nostrils and breathe through your mouth, mkay? Just until the bleeding stops, and then I can go and find you some ice for that. That looks like it really hurts…”

The child in front of her nodded. “ _Does_ ,” she agreed through a shuddering, croaky noise. “Hurts _bad_.” 

“How did you—”

“Doorknob,” Hannah whimpered out. Now that her hands weren’t up against her face, Becky could _see_ blood clinging to her fingers in patches even as she jammed the tissue against her nose and breathed shakily through her mouth. “...sorry…”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Becky reassured, “it’s okay!” Resting a hand over her chest, she made sure to catch Hannah’s eye when she spoke. “ _I’m_ sorry that you’re hurt.” 

She meant it. 

As much as she _was_ a nurse and as much as dealing with hurt kids _was_ her job, that didn’t mean she actually _liked_ seeing them hurt— and Hannah was a kid who seemed to be hurt _often_ . Not as much _this_ week, or the last, but… 

“...tripped again?” Becky murmured, pulling up a chair next to the small table. 

Hannah nodded. “...yes. Late to class. Was rushing and then…” She sighed. On the tissue, she adjusted her fingers just a little to better jam it against her nose. “Fell.” 

Becky winced sympathetically. “Ouch.” 

“Ouch,” she agreed, sniffling a little more and shifting her weight. Her legs swung back and forth, the soft thumps of her heels hitting the side of the table keeping time along with the clock on the wall and the child’s shaky breaths through her mouth. 

Becky offered a reassuring smile. 

“It shouldn’t last much longer, m’kay?” 

Hannah’s heels tapped a little harder on the wood when she nodded, pinching tightly to her nose even as the paper towel turned darker and darker, albeit, slowly, which meant it couldn’t have been bleeding all that heavily anymore. 

Which was good. 

“You won’t need a hospital visit, looks like,” she added, standing and reaching for another wad of tissues, “didn’t hear anything crunch when you hit it, did you?”

Hannah shook her head. “No,” she whispered, “just hurt lots.”

Becky tore the paper towel from the dispenser and offered it to Hannah, using a foot to nudge a half-emptied garbage can toward the table, gesturing toward it with her chin. “I’ll bet,” she agreed. “Here— you can try taking that towel off now. Is it still bleeding?” 

Slowly, Hannah peeled the paper towel off of her face and discarded it in the trash. “...not sure,” she mumbled, glancing up at Becky, who bent over and took a look at the girl’s blood-smeared features, which— of course, not counting the blood still puddled just above her upper lip— didn’t look all that bad. 

Peering at Hannah’s nose, Becky tilted her head slightly. “Well, it doesn’t _look_ like it’s still bleeding— you can stop pinching now, and then I can get you a wet wipe to clean up with and you should be good to go back to class! I’m sure you’ve barely missed a thing.” 

In response, Hannah gave a soft hum and sat back a little on the examination table, legs still swinging and eyes trained on the far wall. 

Becky sighed. Not an irritated thing— just something to break the silence— before turning her attention to her desk and digging her hand into one of the topmost drawers where she kept some of the supplies she needed more often. Bandaids, gauze, and of course—

“Ha! Knew they were in here!” With a smooth motion, she pulled a package of wet wipes out from the drawer and offered them Hannah’s way. “Here you go, and then you can get back to your hard work.”

For the first time since she’d stepped into the office, Hannah gave a soft laugh— still a little heavy with tears, but one that made Becky’s heart lift. “Not hard,” she corrected as she took a wipe and ran it over her face. “ _Work_ isn’t hard. _People_ are hard.” 

Becky laughed in return. “People _are_ hard,” she agreed, sitting back down across from Hannah. “ _Especially_ at your age— they just get…”

“Weird,” Hannah finished for her when she trailed off, at which Becky nodded. 

“Weird,” she seconded as she reached to discard the package behind her on her desk, before leaning forward with a sigh. 

A thought surfaced in the back of her mind.

It was one she’d tossed around before. 

After all, she _knew_ all her regular kids, and she knew _why_ they were regular— like Zazzalil and her fights, Draco with his nosebleeds— it was easy enough to look at them and figure out what had wound up with them winding up in her care, but Hannah? Hannah was a careful kid. She didn’t _seem_ clumsy— whenever she came in claiming to have tripped, a lot of the time, her knees weren’t even dirty from what she’d say was a fall outside, which… was worrying. 

And once again, something that seemed to be true. 

And definitely not a topic she wanted to broach. 

_...one I should broach…_

Shifting in her seat, Becky brought her hands into her lap and tapped her nails lightly on her pantlegs. “Hannah,” she started, slowly, “did…” 

Hannah cocked her head. 

The swinging of her legs continued, but as Becky inhaled, the movement began to slow. 

“...did…” Hannah prompted after a long silence. 

Becky bit her lip. “...did you really trip?” 

Hannah’s face drained of colour. 

Her swinging came to a dead stop, and in the seconds it took her to gather her words, Becky had been given her answer. 

“Did!” Hannah sputtered, sitting bolt upright in a matter of seconds. “Tripped! Fell.”

“Hannah, who tripped you?” 

Hannah’s features pulled into a wince. She dipped her head. “...nobody.”

Becky winced right along with her. 

“ _Hannah_ .” It wasn’t said harshly. More with gentle exasperation than true irritation, and when Becky said it, she gently set her hand down beside Hannah on the table. “You’re _not_ in trouble, but the person who keeps doing this _can_ be, okay?”

“Won’t,” Hannah mumbled. “Never is.”

Like that, Becky had her answer.

“River?” 

Hannah didn’t look her in the eye, but her shoulders immediately tensed. 

“...don’t say anything.”

“Hannah, I _really_ should call your parents—“

“ _Don’t!”_ Hannah sputtered, her volume spiking with the word. “I— It’s okay. Not hurt anymore— see?” Lifting her head and tilting it so Becky could see her nose that was _definitely_ going to swell over the next day or so, Hannah slid off the examination table and offered the biggest, fakest smile Becky had ever seen her wear. 

“...are you sure you don’t want me to call them?” She asked.

Hannah shook her head. “Won’t do anything. Never does.”

She hated that Hannah was right. After all, River Monroe had a reputation, and his mother? _Linda?_ She’d never punish him. She’d just give a scoff and ring up the schoolboard, and then it would be _yes, Ms. Monroe, right away, Ms. Monroe, terribly sorry, Ms. Monroe_ , on account of the fact that she had _money_ and if the district sucked up to her enough, she and her husband _Gerald_ would pull a few strings and sponsor a few clubs, which meant that their children were exempt from _all fucking punishments._

Which was more than a little unfair, _especially_ if the kid _knew it._

Which he did. 

Biting her lip, expression twisting into one of annoyance, Becky shifted how she sat. “...I guess not,” she agreed, glumly. “It’s _really_ not fair, though.”

“No, but… how it is. Not forever. Webby says…” Trailing off, Hannah drew a hand up to her head and frowned, pressing her fingers gingerly against her bangs. “...Webby says teeth,” she murmured, “teeth, black, and… green.”

Becky blinked. 

“That’s…”

_Ominous._

“...nice,” she finished, uncertainly. 

Hannah shrugged. “Not sure,” she responded, tossing her wet wipe in the trash pail, before giving a small sigh and meeting eyes with Becky where she sat. “Promise you won’t tell?”

Becky bit down on the inside of her cheek. 

_Realistically_ , she should’ve said _no_. 

Hannah was getting bullied. That wasn’t something that could be debated, the child _was_ getting bullied in a school environment, and that _wasn’t_ fair, and it _was_ something that the principal could _definitely_ look into, if only just to give River a metaphorical slap on the wrist… 

“...promise,” Becky returned, “but if you ever change your mind—”

“I know,” Hannah interrupted. “Webby says _over soon_ ,” she added after a second spent shifting her weight, her voice taking on a reassuring tone, and when their eyes met, there was a tired, but hopeful sort of light in Hannah’s that caused Becky to slowly, slowly exhale. 

Her lips curved into a soft smile. 

“...okay, well, if Webby says so,” she started as Hannah turned back toward the door, “then I… I won’t tell.” 

It wasn’t the right thing to do in a professional setting. It really, really wasn’t. 

But from the look of sheer _relief_ on Hannah’s face that followed it… 

She couldn’t help but think that it was the right thing to do _now_. 

Just to see Hannah Foster smiling, because the kid didn’t seem to do it enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing Becky Barnes. I can Confidently say she is There :')


	23. we do NOT want to KILL anyone

As much as Webby had said it would be over soon, Hannah couldn’t help but think that _soon_ had been a bit of an overstatement, because nothing _had_ changed after she left Becky’s office. 

And nothing _did_ change. 

Every day she went to school, River Monroe would come up to her, sneer out his usual string of insults and words that made Hannah’s throat feel tight and her hands shake, and then he’d push her if nobody was looking, and every day she stayed home, she had to do all the work she was assigned for when she missed days _along_ with the work she hadn’t been _able_ to do thanks to the fact that River always made her head feel _bad_ , and then it was hard to _focus_ because all she could even think about was the fact that her thoughts were all just _bad_.

She’d asked Webby about it.

_When’s soon?_

**Soon, Hannah.**

_Yes, but when?_

**Just soon.**

Soon hadn’t been the day after she’d come home and washed the bloodied sleeve of her flannel. 

It _also_ hadn’t been the day that River had pushed her outside and she’d landed _hard_ on her elbow and— since she was wearing a short sleeved shirt— ended up in the nurse’s office _again_ , which… wasn’t all that bad. She liked Becky, she just… didn’t like the _reason_ she saw Becky so often. 

_Soon?_

**Soon.**

Soon had taken its sweet time, that was certain. 

Every day, Hannah would wake up— just her and Lex in the room, since it seemed waking up to Ethan’s soft purrs had been a one-off ordeal— stretch, blink in the soft sunlight filtering in through their window, and if it was a schoolday, she’d go through the motions of a morning routine, and if it _wasn’t_ , she’d do pretty much the same thing, save for getting dressed, before ending up in the kitchen and asking a silent question. 

_Is today soon?_

The answer, much to her dismay, was _also_ silent. 

Meaning it didn’t come. Tomorrow would come, the next day would come, and the day after that, but the answer… wouldn’t. 

With every morning that greeted Hannah, there was a silence waiting in response to her question and a lingering feeling that _soon_ wasn’t _actually_ all that soon at all. 

Because soon wasn’t _yesterday_ , and it wasn’t the day before that, and it wasn’t all the days that had come between her getting tripped to the next time she was at school and _now_ where she sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging idly beneath her as she finished up what was left of her math worksheetl. Her pencil was worn down to a nub, and with every stroke it made against the paper, it threatened to—

The cupboard door across the kitchen slammed.

Hannah jolted. 

Her pencil lead snapped against the paper. 

She _knew_ it wasn’t her mother— Ethan had been doing a great job at keeping her away from the house, so that wasn’t an issue— but that didn’t exactly make the sound of a slamming door a pleasant one, even if she knew who it was. 

Even if that person was Lex, trying to find something to throw together for dinner. 

“Nothing?” Hannah asked, pushing her chair back and standing, watching as Lex rolled her shoulders and gave a soft groan of defeat.

“Not unless you like…” Leaning back into the cupboard and sticking out her tongue in concentration, Lex narrowed her eyes in a way that made Hannah stifle a small giggle. “Jello packets, baking soda… a half bag of flour… couple of sprinkles from last time we tried baking...”

This time, Hannah _did_ give a laugh, shaking her head at the thought. The _idea_ had been to make sugar cookies at their old place— simple, low-cost, and supposedly good— but with an oven that had barely functioned, the cookies had come out with half the batch burned and the other half completely raw, which hadn’t been all that bad, but _certainly_ hadn’t been the best. 

“Not bakers,” she remarked, at which Lex shook her head.

“ _Definitely_ not,” her sister agreed, closing the cabinet before swinging open the one next to it and flicking her eyes over the contents. “...olive oil?” She suggested, looking back to Hannah, who shook her head. 

“Not for drinking.”

Lex snickered. “Probably not.” 

“ _Definitely_ not.” 

“So that’s a no, which leaves us with…” Humming, Lex cocked her head and stood up on tiptoe to reach one of the topmost shelves, teetering slightly before pulling her hand out of the cupboard with a box in her grip. “...paraffin wax, which we have for some fucking reason.”

Hannah shrugged. “In case we need it,” she explained as Lex set it back where it had come from and bumped the door shut— this time, not slamming it, just letting it fall back with a soft thump. 

“ _Well_ …” Running her fingers through her hair and looking once more at the cabinets as though trying to get something to materialize in them, Lex turned her eyes back to Hannah and spread her hands defeatedly. “Unless you’re gonna try eating it, I’d say today isn’t the day, and since everything in the fridge is like, salad dressing or half-mouldy…” There was a teasing edge in her voice— nothing mean spirited, just the dry sort of humour that Hannah was used to hearing— as she paced toward the kitchen table slowly and dramatically, spinning on her heel about three steps in to shoot Hannah an over-the-top look of dread. “I guess we starve.” 

“Kind of a shitty way to go,” called a voice from the other room— _Emma—_ in a laugh-tinged drawl, “I mean—”

“Oh, _sorry,_ since you’re a fucking _expert_ ,” Lex shot back without missing a beat, standing up tall, wide grin on her face, “you got any other alternatives?”

Like clockwork, Emma phased through the wall— though she only poked her body in about halfway, like she was leaning through a window. “ _Well_ , I got creamed by a meteor, which wasn’t all that creative, but come the fuck _on_ , starvation?”

Lolling her head to the side so her hair spilled out from under her beanie, Emma turned her eyes to Hannah and shot her a grin. “Honestly, you must’ve gotten all the creativity in the family or something— you can draw _and_ play an instrument—”

“ _Hey_ —” Lex tried to interrupt, though Emma plowed right over her. 

“—so I guess Lex just got the short end of the stick.”

It was a struggle to keep her giggles down. She could feel her laughter threatening to bubble from her throat, and she _just_ managed to keep it from overflowing and erupting into proper guffaws— 

Until she turned to Lex.

The dam broke. 

It would’ve been impossible for her to keep the sound down, and when it shot from her at a volume that made her shoulders shake at the look on Lex’s face— somewhere between offended and struggling not to laugh— she heard the other two join her. 

_Home._

The thought came out of nowhere, but it was a good one. A true one. This felt like a _home_ , not just another building they were staying in to leave behind in a matter of months thanks to not covering rent or some other reason— this felt _permanent_ , and as Hannah shook her head and waved a finger scoldingly at Emma, puffing up her chest a little, she couldn’t help but think that she didn’t mind it. 

Not at all. 

“Lex is _smart_ ,” Hannah defended, glancing over to Lex. “ _And_ she sings sometimes. She’s really good.” 

Lex’s cheeks darkened. “I—” She started, ducking her head momentarily before sighing quietly. At her hip, her fingers twitched. “...thanks, Banana.” 

Hannah offered a soft smile in response, though her attention turned to Emma when the ghost adjusted her hat on her head. “...you two have a good dynamic, you know that? _My_ sister and I were _never_ like that.” 

Hannah stood a little straighter. “You had a sister?” She asked with a sideways tilt of her head. 

Emma winced.

“... _had_ ,” she agreed after a pause spent fidgeting with her beanie. “I mean, hey, I lasted longer than she did, so… point for me, I guess.” Rolling her shoulders and continuing to fiddle with the brim of her beanie, Emma glanced up at Hannah. 

When she smiled, it looked forced.

Too tight. 

Hannah didn’t comment on it. 

She didn’t need Webby to know it was a sensitive subject, and even if she _did_ want to comment on it, Emma had already waved it off with a quick flick of her wrist. 

“But that doesn’t matter— good sibling dynamic or not, you two _still_ don’t have like, _anything_ to eat.” 

Lex rolled her eyes in response. “ _Yeah_ , I noticed— _fuck_ , I totally forgot to do grocceries. I meant to yesterday, I just…” Trailing off, she rolled her shoulders and hefted herself up to sit on the countertop. “...think that weird corner store is open? We don’t need much— fuckin’ proper groccery run can wait until morning, ‘cause I _think_ we still have cereal…” 

Hannah nodded in response. “Little bit,” she agreed, “enough for tomorrow. Helps that they don’t eat.” 

_They_ of course, wasn’t just Emma— the other two thirds of the undead trio she shared her home with somewhere in the living room— but she was _fairly_ certain the other two could hear her, and that was confirmed by Paul giving a soft hum of acknowledgement from the other side of the wall. “It’s probably open,” he inputted, “I don’t think that Nick guy who runs it ever sleeps.” 

Emma laughed. “True,” she agreed as she slipped through the wall to join the sisters in the kitchen without so much as a smidge of effort. 

It never ceased to amaze Hannah.

She’d asked Paul how he did it, once, and the best he’d been able to give as an answer was comparing it to swimming, just without water or a swimsuit— and _through_ a solid object, which he’d said wasn’t the hardest part. The hardest part, according to him, was _stopping_ afterward and _actually_ being able to touch things again. 

Emma didn’t seem to have the same trouble. Easily gliding through the table and chairs strewn haphazardly around it, she cracked open the topmost cabinet and sighed. “And unless you’re into paraffin wax washed down with olive oil, you’re gonna have to go out and bother him.”

“...that sounds kinda fucking pathetic,” Lex mumbled after a moment of silence that she filled with a low huff that bordered on a groan. 

Hannah shook her head and moved to grab her worksheet from the table— carrying it diligently across the room to where her school binder sat and fitting it neatly in place, clicking the steel rings shut with a sharp snap. “No,” she corrected, “just means we need to find something.” 

Emma lowered her hand from the cabinet. “Also true, and I’d just go, but I’m—” pausing to gesture down at her legs, Emma jerked her head sharply to the left and sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth and drew her shoulders upward. “—y’know. _Dead_ , so…” 

Her eyes settled on Lex. 

Hannah couldn’t help but do the same. 

When their eyes met, Lex heaved a sigh. “Y’know, a walk would _probably_ be good for me,” she reasoned, “through downtown _Hatchetfield_ at _night_ .” Moving slowly toward the door, rolling her shoulders and running her fingers through her hair once more— tugging a little sharply on the ends— Lex bobbed her head in an exaggerated nod. “ _Just_ what I need to get my blood pumping. I’ll…” Another exaggerated nod made her look like a puppet on a string where she stood. “...I’ll find something. Jog over to the corner store, jog back, and then _tomorrow_ , I’ll grab some shit that we can actually cook with.” 

“Going alone?” 

“ _Well_ , unless Hannah wants to come—”

Hannah and Webby spoke as one.

“No.” It fell from her lips without hesitation, quickly enough that it made Lex give a soft huff of laughter. 

“That’s fair, I don’t really wanna go either, but—” Lex took a few steps toward the door, bending down to grab her worn-out sneakers “—it’s either I inconvenience Nick—” she tugged one on “— _or_ we starve to death.” 

Something cold passed through Hannah’s arm.

Some _one_. 

Emma. 

Just one of her hands— not even a whole _hand_ , really, more like the ends of her fingers— but it was still enough to send shivers across her skin as the ghost passed her by. 

One of her hands was up on her head, fiddling with her beanie once more, and as Lex tugged on her other shoe, Emma moved just a little closer. 

“I can come along,” she offered, “if you wanted— been wanting to try getting out of the house again for ages. Shit didn’t go too well last time, but…” Offering a shrug, she straightened her beanie and smiled, albeit, stiffly. “Hey, may as well give it another shot— and Nick’s _probably_ haunted, anyway. One more ghost won’t hurt him, right?” 

Lex paused. She was midway through reaching for her jacket when the ghost spoke, and when she pulled it down from the hook, she did so slowly, pulling on the sleeves one at a time. “...you _really_ wanna come and grab groceries in the dark?”

The sound of footsteps on the ground caught Hannah’s attention— footsteps from _behind_ her, followed by the almost familiar sound of his wings shuffling— moving like twin umbrellas unfurling against each other— followed by a slow, deep sigh, drawing nearer and nearer.

She didn’t dare turn around. 

She didn’t _need_ to. 

She knew where Ethan was. 

“...so,” he drawled, dragging the word out to last a small eternity, “I’m babysitting then?” 

_Oh._

_Right._

From the look that crossed Lex’s face in response, she could tell it was something that she hadn’t exactly considered, though that look of surprise was quick to drop into something completely different. 

Her brows pinched together. Her nose wrinkled. 

“No,” she corrected after a pause spent tugging up the zipper of her coat and checking to see if her wallet was still in her pocket with a halfway pat to the outside. “ _Hannah_ can look after herself.” 

Hannah perked up a little. 

Slowly, she turned her head enough to shoot Ethan a sidelong glance— enough to see that Paul had decided to join them in the already cramped boot room area that wasn’t so much a boot room as it was a small part of the kitchen with a hook on the wall. 

“Can,” she agreed, though when Ethan took a step closer, she shrank back a smidge. 

Lex bit her lip. 

There was _clear_ hesitation on her face, clear enough that Hannah could practically see the wheels in her older sister’s head turning as she met eyes with Ethan— the demon in question wearing a smug, toothy smirk. 

“You won’t pull anything?” A warning tone floated into Lex’s voice. 

Ethan didn’t seem to hear it. Or maybe he was immune to it. 

If anything, he _matched_ it— voice turning a little sharper in response. 

“You gave me like, _no_ wiggle room,” he returned, leaning against the nearest wall, “fuckin’ relax— if I _wanted_ the squirt dead, she’d _be_ dead by now.” 

A cold chill ran down Hannah’s spine. 

_Is that true?_

She wasn’t sure.

Lex’s brows drew together. “That’s… really not all that reassuring.” 

“Sorry. I don’t really _do_ reassurance— but you’ve got nothin’ t’worry about. Paul will haul fucking _ass_ over to find you if I put one fuckin’ toe out of line, and the corner store… ain’t that far if I remember correctly.” Leaning a little heavier on the wall and offering a shrug, he wound his tail around his forearm. 

Hannah could feel her heart rate beginning to skyrocket. 

She’d been _near_ him before. She’d been _around_ him— those weren’t things that scared her all that much anymore, no, but the thought of being _alone_ with him…

Instinctively, she brought a hand up to tug on her braids. 

**Not alone. Paul.**

_Paul._

She glanced over her shoulder. 

He’d been so quiet, she’d nearly forgotten he was there, and as she turned, she caught sight of one of his hands— curled tight around a small, black box that he quickly hid in his palm. 

Their eyes met. 

Paul seemed a little paler than he had been a few seconds ago, though before Hannah could comment on it, Ethan shuffled his wings and braced a little harder against the side of the room— close to the empty cabinets. 

“C’mon, what’s the _worst_ that could happen?” He challenged. 

Hannah _really_ didn’t want to be asking herself that question, especially not about Ethan. _Hundreds_ of things could go wrong, and while he couldn’t touch her, he could _easily_ find some loophole to exploit. It wouldn’t be all that hard for him to—

**Hasn’t.**

_Hasn’t…_

That was true. 

As much as he _could_ have knocked her off, he… hadn’t, for whatever reason. 

“...I’m not gonna answer that and give you ideas,” Lex responded, breaking Hannah out of her thoughts with a sigh, “‘cause I’m _fairly_ certain you know the answer— and I wouldn’t be doing this if we _weren’t_ completely fucking out of food.” 

Ethan grinned. “I know.”

“I fucking mean it.”

“I _know_.” 

The tension between them was thick enough that it kept Hannah’s voice quieted as she glanced between the demon— still wearing that crooked, fanged grin— and her sister— Emma hovering over her shoulder— where they stood. 

She tugged a little harder on her braid. 

“I…” She started, quietly, swallowing hard once the eyes in the room turned to her. “It’s okay. I’ll—”

**Stay.**

“—stay.” 

“Are you _sure_ you’re gonna be okay if Emma and I go out for awhile?” She asked, quietly. 

“It won’t be very long,” Emma added, “we’re not doing a full grocery run— just getting you two something so you don’t starve.” 

Hannah bit her lip. 

A small knot settled in her stomach. 

The answer was _nearly_ yes. It was _close_ to a yes. After all, she _liked_ Paul— Paul was nice, and he listened to her talk about Webby or her drawings without interrupting, and he was always quiet and gentle and _never_ seemed to lose patience with her when her words weren’t working— but Ethan?

She didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t keep from looking over her shoulder, just slightly, just enough to see the red, pointed end of Ethan’s tail, twitch, twitch, twitching, clacking softly against the hardwood floor. 

Lex followed her eye. 

Her brow creased. 

“...Hannah?” She asked, worry flickering to life in her tone. “Did you want to come along?” 

She wanted to say yes, but before she could—

 **Stay,** Webby repeated, louder this time. 

_Much_ louder. 

Her hand shot to her head at the sudden burst of noise from Webby— the pressure of another consciousness against hers somehow _heavier_ than normal, more a firm push than gentle nudge. 

_Stay?_

**Safe.**

_Not safe to go?_

**Safe for Lex.**

_Then why do I have to—_

Webby pushed her again. 

**Better for you here.**

Her brows drew together. Her shoulders rose involuntarily, and when she inhaled, it quivered lightly in her throat, though she was quick to force the shaky feeling down deep and shake her head.

“...I’ll stay,” she mumbled, softly. “Have Paul. Won’t be bad.” 

Behind her, Ethan huffed. “ _Damn_ , what am I— chopped liver?” 

“ _No,_ ” Emma corrected, narrowing her eyes, “you’re just a dick.” 

“ _Wow_ , name calling? Pretty low, Perkins.” 

Emma’s shoulders rolled in a lazy shrug. “It’s kinda what you deserve,” she deadpanned, and instead of snapping back at her, Ethan gave a soft snort. 

“Y’know what?” Raising his hands— tail falling to the floor with a soft thump, Ethan shook his head. “That’s fair. Look. I’ll let you… sort this out— _and_ I’ll stay on the couch th’ whole time you’re gone, ‘kay? Win win. _I_ get to sleep, and _you…_ ” His shoulders bobbed in a weak shrug. His brows pinched together. “...get the reassurance that I _won’t_ be able to do jack shit. Deal?” 

It looked automatic on his part when he offered his hand. 

Lex’s nose wrinkled. Regarding his hand the same way someone would regard being offered a lit stick of dynamite, she took a step backward toward the front door, one hand falling to clip against the handle. 

“...we’re not shaking on that,” she informed him, “I’m _telling_ you that you’re staying on the couch, and Hannah?” 

Hannah met her eyes. 

Lex offered a smile. 

“If I’m not back in like fifteen, call the cops, okay? I’m leaving you in charge.” 

A smile flickered across Hannah’s face in return. “...okay.” 

For a moment, she believed it would be okay. 

She believed it when Ethan slunk off to the living room. 

She believed it when Lex opened the door and stepped out. 

She believed it when Emma offered a wave and slipped into the night after her. 

She believed it when she stole into the kitchen, took her binder down from the counter, and set it on the table, pushing her pencil to the paper, and for a few minutes while she worked at her math problems, things _were_ okay

Until Webby started to prod at her. 

**Go to him.**

Under the table, her legs swung. Her grip on her pencil tightened. 

_Do I have to?_

She hadn’t _planned_ on sitting at the kitchen table by herself for much longer— the only real thought on her mind had been finishing up her worksheet before slipping into the room with the two of them anyway—

**One.**

_One?_

Cautiously, she glanced into the opening that led to the living room. She couldn’t see much— just the end of a twitching, flicking tail along with the edge of their weatherbeaten couch, which meant that Ethan hadn’t moved from where he was probably lying like some oversized housecat— but Paul was nowhere to be seen. 

_Where—_

**He’s thinking. Needs a little bit of time. Uncertain ring. On the roof.**

Oh. 

That made sense. 

The roof was probably a good place to think— not that Hannah had ever really thought about it, but now that the possibility was there in her mind, it… made sense. Clear view up there. No real noises— just ambience from the quiet streets downtown and the wind that always seemed to be blowing through the town. 

_Stars?_

She didn’t know if Webby laughed, but she was _fairly_ certain she could feel it when the spider was smiling, which she was definitely doing now. 

**Some. He likes them.**

_Good_.

That was good. 

That meant he wasn’t _entirely_ alone.

**Not alone.**

The tail that she could see draped over the arm of the couch flicked. 

_Not alone_ , she echoed, sighing as she did, and with what little courage she had, she forced herself to move closer— walking slowly, as though she was treading on eggshells. She could hear the faint hum of a quiet television program that Ethan must’ve flicked on, the crackly reception they had causing every sound from it to seem far away. 

**Hannah. It’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid.**

Just because she didn’t _have_ to be afraid didn’t mean she _wasn’t_ though. 

She was practically tiptoeing as she neared the living room, and even though she knew Ethan could _probably_ hear her— maybe even _sense_ her— it didn’t stop her from trying to stay as quiet as she could manage as she slunk into the room and tried to avoid looking at him— choosing to sit on the far end of the couch from him. 

She could feel his eyes on her. 

Even as she reached for the remote and turned down the programme just a little— not wanting to deal with the static sounds— the hair along her arms rose under her flannel, and a shudder trailed down her spine when he inhaled. 

“...so, not a fan of this, then?” He asked, quirking a brow. 

Hannah shrugged in response. 

In all honesty, she had no real idea what they were watching. She couldn’t focus on it. All she could focus on was the shallow sound of Ethan breathing and the soft flick flick flicking of his tail sliding back and forth on the floor, thumping repeatedly against the side of the couch. 

_Stim?_

**Yes.**

_Like me?_

A silence fell in her head for a few moments, long enough for her to pick up on what the pair of them were ignoring together— the local station’s evening show— and the soft sound of wind blowing outside. 

**Not quite. Yes, but no. Different.**

Flick. 

Thump.

Flick.

Thump

Whatever it was, it was repetitive— almost rhythmic— enough that combined with the wind outside, the muted static, and the sounds of the pair of them breathing, it was almost a comfort. 

Nearly matching his own timing, Hannah began to fiddle with the end of her braid, pretending not to notice when his eyes fell upon her. 

Minutes passed before he tried to speak again.

She knew it was coming, sure— she even knew that from an outsider’s perspective, the two of them sitting up on the couch on opposite ends, one splayed out with wings and horns, the other a thirteen-year-old _kid_ in a too big flannel and overalls— but it didn’t make it any less awkward when he finally _did_ speak up. 

“So…” He started, frowning, fangs curling past his lip just enough to make Hannah acutely aware of them, though not enough that it made _fear_ spike through her. 

It just looked like the Ethan _she_ knew. 

The _version_ of Ethan she knew, anyway, since she was fairly certain the Ethan from before he’d ended up in their home was a lot less… pointy in appearance— specifically, he _probably_ hadn't had twin horns curling up from his head or a set of wicked teeth. 

_Probably._ She hadn’t exactly known him. 

Automatically, her gaze shot to his claws when he started to drum them on the armrest. 

“...do you always do your schoolwork at home?”

“Most days.” 

“Cool, cool.”

Another silence. 

This time, when she looked over at him, _he_ was the one pointedly avoiding eye-contact— gaze fixed on the television somewhat vacantly, though he was quick to try picking the conversation up again. 

“Don’t you get like…” One of his eyebrows raised. “I dunno, _bored_ , here all day?”

Hannah shook her head. “No,” she mumbled, sitting up just a little straighter. “Like it here. Less noise. Just Paul and Emma. Sometimes you, but _there_ …”

She stopped. 

She knew what she was _going_ to say, the name right on the tip of her tongue, but she forced herself to bite it back.

_Please don’t say anything, please don’t—_

Ethan leaned closer. “There?” He prompted. 

_—shoot._

Hannah swallowed numbly. 

“Nothing,” she tried to say, though Ethan cut her off with a shake of his head and a soft snort. 

“Nah, don’t lie— that’s my job, ain’t it?” 

“...you lie?”

“Demon joke. Sorry. Had a lot of time to come up with them.” Shrugging almost apologetically, Ethan coiled his tail around one of his arms and mirrored Hannah’s position, leaning forward where he sat. “But seriously, kid, what’s up?” 

Hannah tugged a little harder on her braids. The elastics on the ends threatened to slip loose with every tug she gave them, and when she tried to convince him again…

“...nothing,” she tried to assure him, though try as she might to keep a steady tone, her voice wavered. 

_Crap._

She hadn’t meant it like that. 

He angled his head downward. “Really?” 

Against her will, a sigh pulled from her throat. Her eyes darted to the end of his tail where it tapped ever so slightly against one of his chair’s legs. 

“...no.”

She didn’t have to look up to know Ethan was leaning closer. 

The shadow of his horns fell over her where she sat next to him, making her _acutely_ aware of just how tall he was in comparison to her. 

“...wanna talk about it?”

Hannah’s legs started to swing. There wasn’t much room between her and the floor from where she was sitting currently, and her heels thumped lightly against the hardwood with every motion from her, though she paid it no mind. “...wouldn’t help.”

The TV static seemed to grow louder. 

“Damn. That’s kinda depressing, isn’t it?” 

One of Ethan’s wings rustled as he sat up straighter— just enough so she could see him looking at her out of her peripheral vision.

Without meaning to, she turned to face him. 

Hannah’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “Maybe,” she replied, and after a second of hesitation, she continued,“true, though. Never did. Won’t now, either.” Slowly, her hands came together, and without much thought, she started to pick her cuticles, teeth clamping down on her lower lip. She could _feel_ his eyes on her, and while it wasn’t exactly awful or crushing like it used to be— that feeling of him trying to find an opportunity to pounce completely gone— it still wasn’t exactly her favorite thing. 

_This is the most I’ve really talked to him since he’s been here._

The thought made her picking hesitate. 

Slowly, she looked up, and after a small pause, she met his eyes. “...sorry,” she murmured, her brow creasing with the action. 

“Why are _you_ sorry?” He asked, though before she could answer, he shook his head and raised his hands— almost like he was parting a crowd in the air with them. “Look, I ain’t gonna make assumptions or nothin’, but… can I make a guess?”

**Yes.**

Her hands rose. Her fingers dug slightly into the ends of her braids, and with a nervous nod, she looked up at him and shrugged. “Okay.” 

“...you gettin’ bullied in school?” 

Her words stuck in her throat. 

Unable to get anything else out, looking at the TV screen without seeing what was happening on it, Hannah could feel her grip on the armrest tightening, heart rate creeping steadily upward against her will. 

“...no,” she tried, though when she did, he angled his head downward and sighed quietly. 

“...lyin’?”

His eyes bore into her own. 

She couldn’t hold his gaze. 

Hands falling to her lap, fingers shifting to tap at her knees, Hannah could feel a hot wave of shame starting to creep up over her, which was stupid, because she _knew_ it wasn’t _her_ fault she was getting picked on, it was just because _River_ had decided she was an easy target, which _wasn’t fair at all_ and left her wanting to use a few choice words that Lex had promptly banned her from saying until she was “older”, whatever that meant. 

The whole concept of “older” seemed stupid to Hannah Foster, anyway. 

She was _plenty_ old enough to understand the world was a messed up place. Plain and simple, it was messed up, and broken, and she was stuck living in it— she _deserved_ to say fuck. Just once. 

Not that she would.

Beside her, the demon sighed.

“Hey, kid?” Ethan asked in a tone of voice that was almost uncharacteristically gentle— one that caused Hannah to turn and look at him— _really_ look at him. 

He looked… less frightening like this. 

Like a person. 

“...yes?” 

“...if I can think of somethin’ to help with that… maybe somethin’ t’scare them off—”

A shiver ran down Hannah’s spine. Before he could even finish, her shoulders had drawn up defensively— sure, he _looked_ less threatening than normal, but that didn’t mean he _was_. “No hurting,” she instructed, at which Ethan raised a hand and let the other sit just on his chest. 

“Hey, that’s part of the deal— I ain’t _allowed_ to hurt anyone, and honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever wanna fuck up a middle schooler.” As he spoke, his tail kept on flicking back and forth on the ground, twisting like a thin, black snake— stuck in place thanks to being attached to the demon it belonged to. 

“...no tricks?” 

The words came out warily. 

She couldn’t help it. 

Ethan flashed a smile in response. “None. You can trust me on that, _but_ …” His tail flicked. Something in his eyes flashed. 

That spike of fear in Hannah’s chest returned. 

This couldn’t be good. 

Something about the way he was looking at her was making red flags fly, and try as she might to shake the feeling, she just _couldn’t_ — those eyes were too calculating, too alive with mischief—

 **Honest circles.** Webby murmured. 

—she blinked. 

_What?_

Her gaze tracked slowly over his face, and for a moment, all she did was calculate his expression…

His pupils were round. Soft. _Human_ in a way that caught her off guard. 

When he leaned forward, this time, Hannah didn’t flinch away. 

“I have an idea,” he started, slowly, holding her gaze. His tail was flicking beside him and she could _see_ it out of her peripheral vision, but she made no effort to look over to it. “But for it to work, I’m _gonna_ have to tell Lex what’s goin’ on with you…”

_There’s the catch._

Her hesitance must’ve shown on her face, because in the silence she offered him in return, he sighed and ran his claws through his hair. “Look, I _get_ that you don’t want her to know about it, but I think…”

His fangs sank into his lip. 

His brow creased. 

He looked more human than she’d ever seen them. 

“I think it’ll be better if she knows,” he finished in a sigh, “‘cause she just wants what’s best for you, y’know that, yeah?” 

Hannah nodded. “...right,” she agreed, quietly. 

“So I don’t think tellin’ her’s all that bad of an idea— hell, if you’re nervous, I can do it for ya.” 

Hannah blinked. 

“Really?” 

“Really,” Ethan echoed, wings shuffling a little on his back. “I’d offer a handshake, but last time the two of us touched weren’t exactly good for me or anything, so…” With a soft tilt of his head, Ethan raised one hand in the air and placed the other over his chest before moving to speak. “I,” he started, a dramatic tone filtering into his voice, “Ethan Robert Green, _promise_ that I’ll keep up my side of an agreement with Hannah Foster. No tricks. No loophones— none’a that bullshit at all, so long as Lex says it’s okay.”

Hesitantly— hesitantly and cautiously— a smile started to flicker to life on Hannah’s face. 

One that was mirrored on Ethan’s. 

She barely noticed his fangs. 

“Whaddya say?”

* * *

“Absolutely not.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. 

It _was_ , admittedly, the answer he’d _expected_ , just because Lex Foster wasn’t exactly the most agreeable person, but _fucking hell_ , did she _have_ to be so difficult? 

“ _Lex_ , c’mon,” he wheedled, being careful to keep his voice down— the _last_ thing he needed was Emma or Paul floating in through the wall to give him shit, “I _swear_ I ain’t fucking around—”

“I don’t care!” 

“—she said it was fine! Don’t you trust her?”

“She’s _thirteen!_ I dunno when the _hell_ you two started being all buddy-buddy, but _no_ , there’s _no_ fucking way I’m letting you hang around her like some fucking bouncer.”

“Bodyguard,” he corrected.

Lex’s irritated expression worsened. “Does it _matter?_ ” She snapped through a scoff. “Either way, _no_.” 

“It’d keep those shitheads away from her, though.” 

“ _Yeah_ , and attract an even _bigger_ shithead. No thanks.”

“Think about this for a second.”

“Yeah. Thought about it— I’m _not_ setting a demon on my little sister—”

“You’d _technically_ just be setting me on those little fuckers making her miserable,” he interrupted, flaring out his wings and shifting where he was perched on the arm of the couch, “and honestly, that’s not all that bad.” 

“...you can see how that’s worse, right? Setting a demon on a _bunch_ of _middle schoolers?_ Look, _we_ do _not_ want to _kill_ anyone— and by we, I mean _I_ don’t want you to fucking attack a bunch of people, okay?” 

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Hey, I wouldn’t _look_ like a demon— and I ain’t allowed to hurt nobody! We’ve been _over_ this,” he defended, though he was quick to break off into a frustrated, throaty _growl_ . “You ain’t even _listened_ to the idea yet and you already hate it.” 

Lex’s arms crossed in response. “Yeah, ‘cause the _last_ time you did something big, you nearly got me _fired_ because you knocked down a shelf— can you fucking blame me for not wanting to know what the demon who wants me _dead_ is thinking?” 

Ethan blinked. “ _Yeah?_ ” He returned, and before she had time to cut him off, he stood in a rush. “ _Look_ , here— gimmie permission to do _one_ freaky demon thing, okay? It won’t hurt nothin’, but I need to show you so you understand what th’ hell I’m gettin’ at—”

“I— a _what?_ ” 

_Fuck_ , couldn’t she process this whole thing a little faster? Sure, dealing with the supernatural did get a little tricky when it got down to the nitty-gritty of all his demonic fuckery, but _really?_

Unable to keep his lips from drawing back, he rolled his shoulders along with his eyes. “Did you seriously forget your own wording?” He asked, eyebrows raising in disbelief. “You _literally_ told me— and I fuckin’ _quote_ — ‘no freaky demon shit’, and this… I mean, it ain’t all _that_ freaky, but it _technically_ counts, so…”

His eyes met her own somewhat expectantly. 

The fact that she didn’t shut him down immediately was more than what he’d hoped for. It looked like she _wanted_ to, sure, but she _didn’t_. 

Instead, she bit her lip, twitched her fingers like she did whenever she looked like she wanted to do nothing more than take a hit, then hit him— in that order— and sighed. 

“...what is it?” 

“Shapeshifting.” 

The look that flashed across her face was nothing short of shocked. It was kind of funny, if he was being honest— the fucking journey her features went on in the span of like, three seconds— watching her nose wrinkle and her eyebrows dip down, her eyes widening, mouth hanging slightly open—

“You can fucking _what?_ ” She sputtered, at which Ethan gave a soft huff. 

“Hey, keep your voice down— Hannah’s sleepin’,” he huffed out, “but _yeah_ . I _can_ , and if you hadn’t banned ‘freaky demon shit’ right off the bat, I’d have been able to show ya.” 

To be fair, if she _hadn’t_ gone and banned _freaky demon shit_ right off the bat, he _probably_ would’ve done her in, but he _could’ve_ shapeshifted while doing it, so it wasn’t entirely a lie. Wasn’t even three quarters a lie, which was pretty good for him.

_Fuck yeah. Honesty._

Watching, rapt at attention as Lex pinched the bridge of her nose and watched him right back, Ethan tried in vain to keep his tail from swishing behind him on the floor. 

“You think this’d stop the bullying thing?” She asked, slowly, though before he could answer, she dragged her fingers sharply through her hair and exhaled through her teeth. “Fuck— _before_ I let you show me—”

His posture lifted. 

_Before._

_That’s not a no._

“—what’s your plan, Green?”

It took every ounce of his self control to keep from smirking at the tone that filtered into her voice— one of reluctant curiosity. Like a kid asking if they were _really_ grounded, that was what she fucking sounded like— almost like she already knew the answer but was afraid to ask for it. 

Ethan Green, however, wasn’t afraid to give it. 

“Well, _I_ was thinkin’ that maybe— an’ that’s a _big_ maybe— if Hannah wasn’t showin’ up to the school building by herself in the mornings and was with someone who… no offence, looked like they could _actually_ fuck someone up—”

Lex cut him off with a snort. 

“I’m fairly certain I could fuck up a couple of middle schoolers, Green,” she grumbled.

“ _Yeah_ , but _you_ were the one who said you didn’t want to kill anyone— which I _won’t be doing_ — look, can I have permission?” 

She opened her mouth— _probably_ to shut him up, but Ethan didn’t pay her any attention, choosing instead to take a step closer. The two of them were in the kitchen— one of the only fucking rooms in the house with enough _space_ for more than one person to stand in— Paul and Emma had fucked off… somewhere to do something or other, and Hannah had been put to bed after Lex had come back from the store with a loaf of bread and a block of cheese, Emma saying something about showing her to make grilled cheese without burning it— and as he shifted his weight and curled his tail around the base of the table behind him, he plowed right on forward with his words.

“Just this once? I’ll show ya somethin’ and then change right back, okay? No strings, no nothin’, swear it on my own grave.” 

Lex’s eyes narrowed, though instead of a biting tone when she spoke that he was bracing for, instead, her voice turned soft. Hesitant, almost. 

“...Hannah _really_ said she thought it was a good idea?” She asked, slowly. 

“Lex, _listen_ . You should’a seen her. She was _terrified_ to tell me, like it was gonna make shit _worse_ . I don’t think she would’a said shit if it weren’t _really_ fuckin’ her up. I know you want her to be safe, and I get it, I… I do too, and this _will_ help keep her safe. You should’a seen the look on her face.”

Lex frowned. “What look?”

“God, she was like… hopeful? When I said I could help her? I didn’t really have time to figure out _how_ I was gonna, but I thought about it and this…” Pausing, dragging his claws through his hair, Ethan rocked back on his heels and gave a loose shrug. “I dunno, it just seems like a good idea.”

It _shouldn’t_ have been.

What it _should’ve_ been was a front of some kind, that was it— something to get the kid to trust him enough to follow him out into traffic and get creamed by a bus— but… 

As much as he wanted it to be, it _wasn’t_. 

Which _shouldn’t_ have been a problem, only it _was_ , because if he _didn’t_ manage to murder one of them before they saved up enough to get away, he’d end up—

_Don’t._

_Don’t go there._

It was hard not to, but with a harder flick of his tail— one that threatened to drag the table along with it— he managed to steer his thoughts back toward Lex where she stood in front of him, arms crossed. 

“It _really_ doesn’t, but…” A dry chuckle wound up from her throat. “ _God_ , this is probably like, _asking_ for death, but... sure. Fuck it. Show me, and turn right back afterward, okay?” 

Ethan grinned. 

_Ha._

“Gotcha— okay, gimmie a second. Ain’t exactly gotten a chance to _practice_ …” 

That wasn’t exactly true, but she hadn’t banned him from _lying_ , so he didn’t see much harm in it, and it was… kind of true. Sort of. The only real chances he’d had at shapeshifting had been around Wiley, the older demon guiding him along and showing him the ropes of turning into something else— usually something with huge teeth and horns, black scales, claws, four legs and _spikes_ down its back— so he hadn’t _really_ much experience when it came to something tame like this, but…

It wasn’t all that hard. 

He wasn’t really _changing_ anything so to speak, just rearranging things that were already there— though it still made his skin shudder and twitch on his back and his whole body pulse with energy he really, _really_ couldn’t afford to spend for too long—

_Focus._

His shoulders wracked. 

Something in his back popped, and after a moment, his eyes fell shut— _fucking focus._

The balance his tail provided disappeared when it did, and with another shudder, he felt his horns pushing back into his skull— wings giving a last belligerent flap before fading away entirely, leaving him just… as he was before everything had gone sideways and his life had been ended. 

Slowly, his eyes flicked open. 

His pupils were circular. Just like they had been, and when he spread his hands in an attempt to make himself look more impressive, no claws bedecked his fingertips. 

A smile spread across his face. 

No fangs pressed into his lips. 

“Like _this_ ,” he explained, straightening his back and shooting Lex a wide grin— though it was quick to waver ever so slightly when he saw the somewhat odd expression on her face, one that he almost likened to the way she’d looked at him when he’d crashed into her a few weeks ago.

Slightly wide eyes, slightly pink cheeks— though that was probably just the lighting— and confusion flickering just behind her eyes as she breathed in, albeit, slowly. 

“...that was…” she started, eyes flicking up and down his frame, blinking repeatedly as though she thought he was going to revert back to how he’d been— which was honestly tempting, seeing as it was putting a _huge_ fucking strain on his body to keep everything the way it was. “...kind of disturbing?” She finished, voice pitching upward in a way that made it sound nearly like a question. 

Ethan rolled his shoulders in response, but when he went to respond—

_What?_

—Lex was staring at his face .

More specifically, his lips— slightly parted. 

Without thinking, he ran his tongue over them.

“Like what’cha see?” He purred out— actually _purred_ , unable to keep the noise from rising up from his throat. 

“I— _no_ , you fucker, I was just…” Swallowing, waving a hand dismissively, Lex shot him a fearsome glare. “Caught off guard— weird seeing you without fangs.”

_Oh._

His smile dropped. 

Only for a second. 

_Fuck, why?_

Was it out of disappointment? 

_God_ , he fucking _hoped_ not— that was a fucking weird thing to be disappointed about, Lex Foster _not_ looking at his lips for any other reason other than him _not_ having fangs— and that would _really_ fuck him over if Wiley decided to—

_Don’t think about him, don’t think about him, don’tthinkabouthimdon’tfuckingdoit—_

—he blinked. 

Lex was still looking at him. 

“You’ll look like… that, then?” She tried after a moment spent coughing and gesturing at him where he stood. “Just like a person?” 

Ethan shrugged. “I mean, anything _other_ than this is a _lot_ harder t’hold onto, so…” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. It was _probably_ pretty obvious— and it would make the _actual_ plan a lot easier if she didn’t bother trying to clarify. “I mean, hey, it’ll scare a coupl’a middle schoolers, yeah?” 

Lex nodded. “Oh, for _sure_ ,” she started, though her tone was quick to turn dark, “can’t _believe_ River Monroe is _bullying_ her, that little _shit._ Scare him _good_ , just... don’t hurt him, ‘kay? He’s a little fucker, but I _really_ don’t need anyone dead.”

_I do._

The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. 

He forced himself to swallow them back down and give a nod. “Yeah, no, I'll just give him the fright of his life—”

It clicked. 

_Wait._

“—is that a _yes_ , Foster?” He asked, unable to keep his eyebrows from creeping upward on his forehead. “

“I— I mean…” 

She paused.

Sighed. 

“...so long as you’re inconspicuous— no wings, no tail, no horns, _nothing like that_ , I…”

Again, she paused, and when she did, she twisted her face in an expression that looked damn near _pained_ before exhaling slowly through her teeth and meeting his eye once more. One of her hands rose, an warning finger pointing in his direction with chipped nail polish barely clinging to it. 

“...then I _guess_ it’s okay, so long as she said so, and so long as you don’t kill or… I dunno, _eat,_ or fuck up any middle schoolers— got it?” 

Ethan met her eyes. 

Slowly, _menacingly_ , his pupils began to thin out.

“Promise,” he murmured, and in the moment, he was _fairly_ certain it was true. Probably. So long as none of the little shits tried anything against Hannah while he was there, he wouldn’t have to _kill_ , or _eat_ , or otherwise fuck up any middle schoolers. 

_Why do you care? Why do you care? What’s it fucking matter what happens to the little snot?_

—a shudder wracked through his body. 

His tail thumped back into place on the floor beside him.

Lex smirked. “...you’re gonna have to work on that shapeshifting thing then, huh?” She asked, turning toward the hallway leading to her and Hannah’s room, though not before giving him one more glance over her shoulder. “...look, Ethan, give me like… a couple days to think, okay? Hannah doesn’t go to school tomorrow anyway, so… it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

_Damn._

That had been close.

Forcing himself to keep his expression from darkening, Ethan instead gave a small nod.

“Sure,” he agreed, “that makes sense.”

It didn’t, really, not to him— hell, he’d given her a fucking _plethora_ of reasons to trust him by _not_ murdering Hannah— but whatever.

One day. He could wait that long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plottimeplottimeplottimeplottime


	24. ready set (not yet)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thank you all for reading thus far! Absolutely adore working on this fic and all the lovely people I've met through it, so I hope you're all having a happy holiday! As for the progression of this story, I wanted to pop in here to let you all know I'm going on hiatus for two weeks at most just to celebrate and take some pressure off myself. I promise I'm not abandoning this (trust me. it lives rent free in my head. it won't leave), just putting it on hold until I have time to continue! Two weeks at the most! 
> 
> Season's greasons!

The corner store on the edge of downtown Hatchetfield was one of the few places that Emma could confidently say had been standing for fucking _years_. 

That wasn’t saying that it was a _sturdy_ building— nothing of the sort— and maybe it was a testament to the fact that she wanted nothing more than to forget Hatchetfield even _existed_ and really, _really_ didn’t know all that much about the town when it came right down to it, but it was a building that seemed to be in her memories, for better or worse. 

After all, it was cheap enough, the clerk was _just_ unsettling enough that not many people bothered stopping in for all that long unless they _had_ to, leaving her with plenty of opportunity to take her time— and to top it all off, the place was _small_ , not hellish to navigate like one of the few chain stores the mall had to its name. It was compact, somewhat neat if she didn’t look too hard at the floors, and in a way, it felt almost familiar, seeing as Nick had never really been the most sociable guy. 

Having him ignore her was pretty damn normal. 

The only really abnormal thing about it was being in the store with someone who wasn’t Paul. 

Someone who was currently pretending to be on the phone in order to actually speak to her without looking like she was losing her marbles— a step above last time the two of them had ended up in the Hatchetfield corner store and both of them had forgotten that Emma was invisible until Lex had spooked some poor woman thanks to Emma making her laugh. 

No, they’d learned since last time.

“I feel like Linda fucking Monroe,” Lex huffed through her teeth as she strode through the aisles with Emma drifting along behind her, basket swinging at her hip.

“That’s not something I expected to hear from you,” she pointed out, at which Lex rolled her eyes. 

“It’s _true_ though!”

“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Swear to _fuck,_ every time I see that woman, she’s on the phone, fuckin’ blabbing to her husband, fucking _Gerald—_ “ Lex paused momentarily, adjusting how she stood in an attempt to better pin her phone between her shoulder and her ear, “—about _every_ goddamn _thing_.”

“You’re on a first name basis with her husband?”

“ _No_ ,” Lex corrected, “but she’s in ToyZone like, every other day, on the phone with him and complaining when she’s _not_ snapping at me because one of her— awh, fuck, hang on.” 

Pausing, inhaling slowly and squaring her shoulders, Lex narrowed her eyes and forced her voice upward in a shrill, nasal tone, drawing out the next three words to last a small eternity. “ _Beautiful blond boys_ ,” she impersonated— the impression damn near spot on, though she wa quick to drop back to her usual way of speaking. “Usually because of those little _shits_ broke another toy or some dumb shit like that.”

“Holy shit,” 

The dark tone that slipped into Lex’s voice when she brought up Linda’s kids wasn’t exactly lost on Emma— though it probably came from working at like, the _only_ toy store in all of Hatchetfield. 

She understood. After all, she’d hated… _most_ of the people in town before she’d really gotten to know any of them thanks to the fact that when they were in Beanies, any sort of pleasantries seemed to fly out of the fucking window.

“Yeah, she was...a _lot_ to deal with. Barely ever came into Beanies— only when Starbucks was closed, usually, ‘cause we were open later than them. _Oh—“_ stopping herself to point over at the meats, Emma stopped herself _just_ before picking up a package of chicken breasts near automatically— _that’d give Nick a fucking heart attack—_ instead, pointing at them and shooting Lex a look. “—grab those, they’re on sale, and you can freeze ‘em.”

The fact that freezers were one of the single best things mankind had ever managed to invent was one of the many tricks she’d learned while living on a budget in an attempt to get through community college while _also_ living in a tiny, one-person apartment.

Paul had made things easier.

Paul always made things easier. When they’d been alive, it had been with a steady presence and job, and now that they… _weren’t_ anymore, he was _still_ a constant. Always had been. Even when he’d just been some spit-drinking stranger at Beanies, he’d been a constant.

Keeping her eyes on Lex as she dropped the chicken into her basket, Emma couldn’t help but smirk when the teen’s brows drew together.

“The hell did she _drink_?”

“Spit,” Emma answered automatically. 

Lex’s head whipped around to face her.

“Excuse me?”

It took some doing to keep from bursting into peals of laughter at Lex’s expression alone— a mixture between disgust and awe. 

Waving a hand, Emma drifted further down the aisle. “Oh, yeah, no, we all spat in her drink whenever she came in,” she explained, “kinda the closest thing to a group activity we ever had. She was always on her phone, anyway, she wasn’t even paying _attention_ , so…” Turning and giving a mock look of consideration, she drew her shoulders upward in an exaggerated shrug. “...we just… added extra flavouring.”

Lex’s lips drew back. It looked like she was _really trying_ to keep that look of disgust cemented on her features, trying to keep it from turning into a smirk with next to _no_ success. Her eyes were crinkling at the corners. “Y’know, I didn’t think I’d be defending _Linda Monroe_ of all fucking people, but _Jesus_ , that’s _gross_.” 

“I mean, the coffee was _already_ bad,” Emma reasoned, “and it wasn’t like we discriminated— Zoey and I would literally just have an extra pot going that we’d give to anyone who was an asshole where there was like… next to _no_ water used if you catch my drift.”

“That’s _disgusting_ , holy _shit_ , Emma, you can’t just—”

“Nobody ever caught us! And nobody complained! Gotta give the people what they want, and _apparently_ , they wanted to be assholes, which _also_ means they wanted to drink spit.”

The corner of Lex’s mouth twitched upward. “...I _really_ don’t think that’s what it means,” she started to say, “but I get it. If I pulled any of that shit at ToyZone, Frank would _have_ my ass. I swear, Ethan gets away with more shit than I _ever_ would— you know that Sherman creep, right?” 

Emma winced. “Unfortunately.”

Lex gave a soft nod. Holding the basket loosely in one hand as she strode down one of the aisles— one stocked with canned goods— she brought one hand up to the side of her phone in an effort to make it look like she was taking into it. “Well, Ethan just about fuckin’ pounced on him on like, week one of hanging around. I… I _swore_ I heard him fucking growling at the guy— all low, like some kind of animal. Sherman hasn’t done so much as _look_ at me since.” 

_Week one?_

Emma’s eyebrows raised a smidge.

_He was making choices like that on week one?_

That was a weird thought. 

Week one, as far as Emma knew, Ethan had been a fuse lit from both ends— not someone who’d step in and throttle the local perv just because he’d said something to Lex. 

...in a way, it seemed out of character for him. 

Weird, almost.

But then again, nothing really seemed weird to her anymore, save for things that should’ve been fucking _normal._

Like going out for groceries, for example.

“It’s weird to be shopping again,” Emma mused as she carefully let a hand fall through a bunch of grapes— _Nick can’t get on my case and think I’m stealing if he can’t fucking see me_ — “Like, _really_ weird, especially since I’m not shopping for _me_ , y’know? I mean, I didn’t _always_ shop for _just_ me or anything, but…” 

Trailing off, she raised her shoulders in a loose shrug, watching as Lex picked out a few apples and let them fall into her basket. “Y’know. Just—” her hands fell limply to her sides “— _weird_.” 

Lex gave a small nod in response. The phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear threatened to slip, though she managed to catch it— bracing her basket between her hip and the shelf she was close to leaning on. “Yeah, I guess it would be,” she agreed, and after a moment, she exhaled a soft laugh and raised her head to glance in Emma’s direction. For one of the first times since they’d met, she didn’t have bags under her eyes— hell, they even looked like they were sparkling in the dim light of the corner store’s interior. “You say it like you used to do shopping for lots of people.”

“Well, _yeah_ , ‘cause I kinda did.” 

“Really?” 

Nodding, letting herself drift off a little more— nobody could hear her, it was fine if she shouted, and it wasn’t like she could really go all that far thanks to the store being so damn small to begin with— Emma rolled her shoulders and let her gaze wander over the slim pickings left in the vegetable section. “Yeah. Used to pick up shit for my brother in law whenever he forgot, and there was me and Paul to look after, _and_ , on _top_ of all that…”

She paused. 

Blinked.

_All that shit was less than a year ago._

_Fuck._

How long had it even _been_ since that night at the theater? She’d spent the first weeks counting days, but once they’d crossed the threshold of a month— then _two_ — it had all blurred together in a bit of a mess that had led her to where she was now, off on a grocery run with Lex, hovering a few inches off the floor as the teenager in question idly eyed the liquor at the back of the store.

_Three months?_

It seemed both too long and too short.

Jesus.

_What the fuck?_

That was weird to think about. Somewhere— probably in that shitty cemetery out near the witchwoods, hopefully next to Paul— her body, the _physical_ Emma Perkins, was dead and buried. Six feet under in a box, and that had all happened only a few months ago...

 _Jesus_. 

It felt like longer than that— probably thanks to being stuck in a tiny trailer house if she was being honest. 

_Ethan_ had been dead for longer than she had. 

The thought made something twinge in her chest— something that she _might’ve_ been able to call pity, though deep down, she knew it was closer to longing. 

Above her, a fluorescent light flickered. 

_Fucking hell,_ she’d _hated_ it when she was alive— hated the extra stress it put on her to have to bend over backward and run errands for other people, but thinking back, it had always been worth it, be it to pass an exam that she really should’ve failed or as an excuse to see her nephew— _Tim._

A small breeze blew into the room from one of the cracked windows— one that she barely felt, thanks to a wave of warmth that came in the form of Lex moving to stand at her side. The teen’s side dipped ever so slightly into her shoulder. 

“...on top of all that?” She prompted as she halfway picked up a discount package of carrots— only slipping it into the basket when Emma gave a nod of approval. 

_Fuck, right, what was I—_

_Oh!_

“Oh, _yeah_ , and my fuckin’ _biology professor_ ,” she finished, laughing softly. “More to pass his class at the beginning, but honestly? Kinda liked the old guy, even if he was a bit… kooky.” 

Lex quirked a brow. “Kooky?” She echoed, a soft hint of a hidden laugh in her tone— one that made Emma give a rigorous nod and grin.

“Yeah, I know it sounds weird,” she agreed, “but if you met the guy, you’d call him that, too— seriously, he was writing his own _musical_ for fuck’s sake, that’s like, fucking _eccentric_ at best, kooky at worst. One time, he _literally_ interrupted his own lecture to give us all a pitch— started singing the opening number and everything.”

As much as there was a falsified tone of annoyance in her tone as she drifted back up through the aisle, trying to figure out what exactly would be cheap but also _edible_ , she barely saw the marked down bananas with black spots, too focused on the images playing behind her eyes. Memories— _specifically_ ones about a certain grey haired old dude who was in _fantastic_ shape if his fucking dance routine was any way of telling, complete with ridiculous vertical leaps that a man of sixty three should _not_ have been able to demonstrate. 

_Weirdo._

She couldn’t say she didn’t miss him, though. 

She missed pretty much everyone she’d left behind.

_That’s really not something I should be thinking about while in a shitty convenience store that’s probably got rats._

_Or at all, actually._

“Could he _actually_ sing though?” Once again, Lex cut into her thoughts— thoughts that were _apparently_ out to fucking _get her_ tonight, and thoughts that she was _more_ than happy to push away in favour of continuing the conversation. 

“I mean, _yeah_ — that man had like, the _best_ tenor range I’ve ever heard come out of a senior citizen, and some pretty good vibrato. Lyrics were kinda shit, but the dude could sing, I’ll give him that.”

“Sounds…”

Emma snickered when Lex trailed off. 

“Kooky?” She supplied, at which Lex snorted.

“Y’know, from the two things I know about this guy, _yeah._ Sure. _Kooky_.” There was a teasing drawl in the word, and when Emma looked over to Lex, her eyebrows were raised in a silent challenge. 

Emma raised hers right back. “It’s literally the only time I’d use the word on _anybody—_ and that’s ‘cause the guy’s _kooky_.” 

“Why’d you start bringing him groceries?”

“He barely left his house as it was, and he missed a couple of lectures— had some sub come in and do them— so… I wanted to check on him, I guess? Make sure he hadn’t gone and keeled over in his sleep.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I _also_ really needed a good mark on a paper that I uh…” Trailing off and adjusting her hat, Emma glanced over at a display of _incredibly_ underripe looking pears and gave a soft laugh. “...did _not_ study for.”

As they walked by the refrigerated section— the soft hum of the cooling unit growing louder by the second in a way that left Emma acutely aware of the fact that it was a hop, skip, and a jump away from breaking— Lex popped open the door and after a moment’s pause, grabbed a carton of milk. 

“Did he pass you?”

Emma raised a hand in a so-so motion. “I mean… yeah? Not with like, flying colours, so it wasn’t obvious, but I didn’t fail his class, so… got that going for me, I guess.” Laughing quietly, she tucked her hands into her pockets and lifted her feet up off the floor. “Thank you, Henry Hidgens.”

Lex froze. 

A look of complete and utter shock flitted across her face, and for a second, it genuinely looked like she was about to drop the carton of milk she was holding.

“Did you just say _Hidgens?”_

Emma’s eyebrows raised.

“...you know him?” She questioned, watching Lex closely as she slowly moved the milk carton from her loose grasp to her basket before meeting her eye.

“I mean, not personally, no, but…”

The teen paused.

At her side, her now free fingers twitched, rapping against the denim of her jeans. “...okay, this is gonna sound kinda weird, but I was looking into Ethan online ‘cause, y’know, he’s _basically_ my roommate now, and that’s his _uncle_.”

Emma’s eyes widened.

“Fucking _what?”_ She sputtered, unable to quite process the information, though from the look of it, Lex was in the same boat.

“ _Yeah_ , Ethan’s his nephew— or _was_ , anyway— a-and I was thinking of… god, I dunno, going to pay him a visit or something, y’know, ‘cause I don’t know jack about him and—“

“Wait, hey, slow down.” Raising a hand automatically, palm out toward Lex, Emma took a slow breath in, attempting to keep her thoughts from churning the way they were. “Ethan’s the old codger’s _nephew?”_

Lex nodded. “Yeah, that’s what it said online anyway,” she clarified, fingers tapping a few times at her hip. “The two of them are related. Apparently Hidgens spoke at his funeral or something?” 

“ _Fuck,_ that’s weird.”

“Probably be weirder if he _didn’t_ , though it’s _still_ …” Slowly, Lex turned her attention back to the shelf in front of her and strode further into the corner store— toward the freezers near the back. “God, I _swear_ everyone in this town is connected somehow.”

“Small town syndrome,” Emma agreed, following a few paces behind her, “everyone’s either related or in some kind of shakespearean blood feud that stretches back a billion years— sometimes both.” 

“ _Usually_ both.” 

When the two went quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights above them and grating rumble of the freezer unit seemed to increase in volume, though Emma barely heard them over the fact that internally, she was _reeling_. 

She wasn’t exactly _surprised_ by it, but at the same time, it… really put a few things into perspective— like when he’d taken a day off out of nowhere and come back saying he’d had to speak at a funeral, not all that mournfully either— and _did_ explain where Ethan might’ve gotten his flair for dramatic pauses. 

His _Uncle_. 

Small fucking world. 

Small fucking _town_ to be more exact. 

_Tiny insignificant town._

Tiny insignificant town that she was probably trapped in until the world came to an end or… _something_ happened that would cause her and Paul to plummet into a _proper_ afterlife that _didn’t_ consist of living— or _existing,_ rather, as they had before, though that was beside the point.

“...that’s so fucking weird,” Emma huffed into the silence, unable to keep herself from shaking her head. “I mean, I can _kinda_ see it, just… can’t believe he has a punk nephew of all fucking things.” 

It didn’t seem like something that’d fit, but as she thought it over— thought it over _quickly_ — it… honestly made sense in a ridiculous sort of way. 

“Had,” Lex corrected.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she agreed, unable to keep in a laugh as she spoke— the whole situation was just so fucking _absurd_ that she couldn’t _not_ laugh, “he _had_ a punk nephew, who now lives with us.” 

_That_ was weird to think about.

Sure, it was _also_ the pinnacle of the smalltown experience, being connected in weird fucking ways, but the fact that it was _Ethan_ and fucking _Henry Hidgens_ was enough to make her give another disbelieving laugh. 

“What are the odds?” 

“Pretty good, apparently,” Lex returned. “ _God_ , okay, so you knew this guy?” 

“Yeah, sure did. Could’t forget him if I tried, I don’t think.” 

_...what’s she getting at?_

There was clearly _something_ she was trying to broach— some topic she couldn’t quite bring herself to spit out. It wasn’t something she would’ve picked up on a month ago. Just a few subtle tells, there in the way her fingers hadn’t stopped twitching on the handle of the basket ever since Hidgens had been mentioned and the way that her brows had drawn together, expression pinching— twisting, almost. 

“You don’t think it’d be…” Lex’s voice dropped into a long, sharp exhale. One of her hands trailed along the edge of the shelf she was perusing, hesitating in front of a bag of rice— though when Emma shot her a nod, she tipped it into the basket. “I dunno, weird? If I went to go see him? Just to ask about Ethan, I mean, they must’ve known each other, and it’d _probably_ get me more info on him than a fuckin’ google search did.”

Emma shrugged in return. “I mean… a _little_ , I guess, but he’s already dead— he can’t really complain at this point. Bit late for that.” 

“Would _Hidgens_ think it’s weird though?”

“I don’t think that man has any idea how weird anything is. Like. _Ever._ Again, this _is_ the man who pitched his musical to a bunch of tired college kids for… no discernible reason— and it’s basically like running a background check, or… I dunno, calling a reference on a resume?”

Lex gave a soft laugh. Taking a moment to better adjust her basket on her arm, the thing looking dangerously full and _definitely_ heavy, she looked up and shot Emma a sidelong glance. “You’re making it sound like I hired him for something.”

“I mean, you kind of did?”

“Not on purpose!” Lex protested, weakly. “It was a total accident, but… can’t really get rid of him, ‘cause I don’t know how, and…”

When she trailed off, Emma couldn’t help but fill in the blank for her— a subconscious thing, really. 

It wasn’t even _hard—_ it didn’t take a genius to fight out where that sentence had been going, and based on the way that Lex ducked her head and inhaled slowly afterward…

“‘Cause you don’t _want_ to?” Emma finished for her, slowly.

“I— _no,_ I just… I don’t know. He’s less…” Her features twisted. Her brows drew together. “Evil,” she settled with, “almost, than before, y’know? I mean, he offered to start walking Hannah to school, and it didn’t sound like he wanted to fuck with her— looks like he actually wants to _help_.”

In the back of Emma’s mind, red flags began to fly. 

_That’s not good._

Letting a demon look after a kid was already a bad idea on its own, but the fact that said demon happened to be _Ethan_ made it even _worse_ in Emma’s mind. Sure, he and Hannah _seemed_ to be on speaking terms now, but… 

_He could really hurt her._

All she could think of was how it felt when his power had seized her— that awful, tingling weightlessness that was somehow just like hovering and nothing like it all at once— before she’d been _flung_ like a ragdoll into a wall that shouldn’t have done anything to her, and she’d been _dead already_ . Hannah _wasn’t_ dead. 

“...how’s he gonna do that?” 

“Linda’s kid— _River_ , that fucking scumbag— he’s been bullying her, and Ethan thinks it’ll help if he’s there.”

“Did you give him a yes?”

“No, I gave him a maybe. I mean, he _is_ still a demon, and as much as he says he’s just here to do his job, I… kinda think it’s a bit bullshit. Don’t get me wrong, I wanna trust him, but—“

“He’s a demon,” Emma interrupted. 

Lex sighed. “Exactly,” she agreed in a huff, scrubbing one hand down the front of her face before bringing it over to the bananas. “God, are you sure we can use these? They look rotten.”

“They’re for baking,” Emma responded without missing a beat, moving ahead of Lex to guide her down a neighbouring aisle with a few baking supplies stacked on the rusted shelving units. “That’s why we’re _also_ grabbing flour, because you’re almost out and it’s _kinda_ essential. I was thinking we could try muffins or something— but that’s beside the point.”

“Which is?”

“Hidgens,” Emma responded as the two of them moved in tandem toward the front till, winding through the last aisle that they hadn’t gone through— one that looked as though it had just been stocked with whatever the shopkeep couldn’t be bothered to sort into any other category other than _miscellaneous shit_ , though Emma barely saw any of it. “Maybe… it’s a long shot, but maybe he knows _something_ about what the fuck’s going on. I mean, he knew Ethan, right?”

Lex gave a shrug. “I dunno, Ethan’s never mentioned him before.”

“Yeah, but he spoke at his funeral— they had to have at _least_ known each other’s _names_ , right?” 

Drifting a little further forward, Emma lifted her feet up off the ground and came up at Lex’s side. “So… worst case scenario, he tells us to beat it, best case scenario, he knows more about Ethan than we think, has been studying the supernatural, _and_ can see ghosts.”

Lex quirked a brow. “Us?” 

“Yeah, us. I kinda miss him. Wanna see what the fuck he’s been up to— _oh_ , and go past his doorstep. He lives in this… god, this _huge_ gothic manor, and I’ve always been kinda curious what it looks like _inside_.”

“I thought you brought him groceries?”

“He never let me past the front steps. He’d buzz me in through the front gates and tell me to leave the bags on the doorstep. I was lucky if he even _opened_ the door to say thank you. Usually he’d just tell his Alexa to do it.”

Lex paused. 

Her fingers twitched at her hip.

When she spoke, it was slow. 

“If I give him a chance to take Hannah to school, it… it’d give us the time to go and visit Hidgens. Not _much_ time but it’s all we’ve really got.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “You trust him with Hannah?” She asked, quietly. 

Lex bit her lip. Her pace quickened ever so slightly.

“I mean, he can’t touch her. Contract says so, _and_ it burns him if he does. And if the contract is working for that, it also means he can’t kill her without going against it… right?”

“Fuckin’ hope so. Otherwise, Hannah’s kinda fucked.”

Lex waved her off. “She’s been alone with him before— and Paul’s supervising. They’re fine.”

* * *

Paul was not, in fact, supervising. 

He knew he was supposed to be supervising. 

He was supposed to have been supervising the _last_ time Emma and Lex had taken off to go shopping, too, but that hadn’t exactly worked out in his favour, either, because the second Emma had left and Hannah had moved off to go find Ethan for whatever reason, the house had felt too small and he’d been drawn upward. Through the ceiling, through the small crawlspace that had been _advertised_ as an attic, which it wasn’t, and up onto the roof. 

The same roof he was perched on now, lanky legs hung over the edge, head lifted ever so slightly to look at the dark sky above without seeing it.

His focus was on the silver band he was currently clutching in the palm of his hand, fingers wrapped around it as though it would leap from his grasp. 

In a way, he almost wished it would. 

Sure, it was one of the few things he could truly _touch_ , but if it wasn’t there, the implications it carried would be lifted from his shoulders, if only for a little while. 

_The implications…_

Paul usually thought about implications quite often. It was easy to, and although he knew he shouldn’t have, he tended to analyze every little thing that was said to him, every look, every word, every _syllable_ , and even after _dying_ , it was no different it seemed. 

He pushed the ring a little harder against his skin. 

It was almost comforting. 

Almost _routine_ at this point— to hop up on the roof and push the silver band as far as he could into the palm of his hand while swinging his legs idly back and forth and thinking, letting himself drift off into his thoughts that swirled and threatened to overwhelm him like a steadily growing torrent of water. First it was a stream that would rise around his ankles. Gentle, almost soothing thoughts. 

Emma, usually. 

Emma, sometimes Hannah, but then the current would grow stronger because _Hannah_ made him think of _Ethan_ , which made him think of the fact that demons existed, and that they _didn’t_ end up like that— neither demons nor angels— which really only served to remind him that he was _stuck_ with her for the foreseeable future, which wasn’t a _bad_ thing, but it really led right into the fact that he hadn’t exactly gone and asked her if she _wanted_ to spend her future with him and like that, the little stream had become a raging, rushing _river_ that threatened to sweep him away. 

The ring was the only thing that kept him even _remotely_ grounded through all of it, and even then, grounded was a loose use of the term.

It was really just a reminder.

Blinking, sitting back a little farther from the edge, Paul pushed one of his fingers through the middle of the ring and dug his nail into his skin.

“...why can’t you just ask her?” He murmured, quietly. “It’s not that hard, just… go up to her, get down on one knee, and..”

Even when just talking to _himself_ he couldn’t do it. 

_Fuck._

This was why he hadn’t been able to do it that night. 

His own insecurities. 

They’d _literally_ killed him in the end. If he’d gone and proposed earlier— _before_ the show— they could’ve made it. 

He’d thought about it a lot. 

Just another droplet in the rising tide that was getting close to carrying him away. 

A sigh pulled from his throat. Slowly, his gaze drifted from the dark sky— there were rarely any stars in Hatchetfield— down to the ring in his grasp. It twinkled ever so slightly when he held it just right against the light. Something plain— simple and elegant. 

Plain was a good way of describing how their relationship had been, come to think. After all, she’d only known him as black coffee guy for the first few months he’d known her as _Emma_ , and the dates they’d gone on had never been all that exciting or grandiose, not that either had ever complained, because they’d had each other. 

They still _did_ have each other. 

Paul’s fingers twirled the ring a little faster. 

_That’s part of the problem…_

_He_ was the problem. He’d always been the plainer one, the one unable to take a risk even when he wanted to— Black Coffee Guy, he had a script and he stuck to it, and that was that, but… maybe she wanted more. Maybe she _needed_ more. 

His legs swung slightly. 

He gripped the ring just a smidge tighter. 

... _she deserves more._

She deserved someone who’d commit— someone who wouldn’t sit on his hands and _wait_ for the right moment to say he cared. Someone who matched her energy, even though he didn’t think anyone truly _could_.

Or maybe _someone_ good, but they guy she’d gone and stuck herself with for eternity sure couldn’t—

“Heya—”

Paul jolted. 

Curling his fingers in as fast as he could manage and yanking the ring against his chest as though Ethan _seeing_ it would cause it to disappear, he scooted away from the ledge as Ethan hauled himself up, offering a toothy grin. 

“—Paul,” he finished greeting after a grunt of effort and a heavy flap of his wings. His claws scrabbled across the weatherbeaten tiles in search of a handhold, and after a moment, the rest of him followed. 

_Slithering_ wasn’t exactly the right word to describe the way that Ethan clambered up onto the roof, but it was the first thing that came into Paul’s mind as the demon pulled himself up into a sitting position next to him— his wings tucking neatly in place against the back of his jacket. 

Paul shifted in place.

Ethan sighed quietly.

The silence was strange— both the silence radiating from Ethan, who was normally _not_ quiet in the slightest, and the silence in his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan where he was perched, and although he was there, for once, the demon wasn’t causing his skin to crawl. 

It had been happening less and less recently, come to think— yesterday night being a prime example, when Emma and Lex had gone off to the store late to find something edible. By the time he’d gotten back inside, Hannah had been sitting _right_ next to the horned teen, and for the first time since he’d seen them occupying the same space, she’d been smiling at him, which was a development, though the most startling thing had been the fact that he’d been smiling back. 

He wasn’t doing that now. The expression he was wearing bordered on thoughtful as he stared up at the night sky, exhaling a small, quiet sigh before turning to Paul and asking, plainly:

“Penny?” 

Paul blinked. “What?” He asked, confusion filtering into his voice. 

Ethan leaned back a little further. His tail wound up from where it had previously dangled off the edge of the roof, clicking lightly against the overhanging gutter before sliding into his lap. 

“Like, for your thoughts,” he clarified, a small, throaty laugh pulling from him. “Sorry. That sounded stupid, but… y’know, what’re you up here thinkin’ about?” 

Paul’s grip on the ring tightened. 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

His shoulders drew upward a tad. Slowly, he swallowed. “...nothing important.” 

The lie caught in his throat ever so slightly— stuck there, the words jumbling just a little— and although it was a subtle stumble, Ethan pounced on it. 

“Really?” He questioned, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. 

“...no.” 

Paul couldn’t tell if he was supposed to be offended by the knowing look that Ethan shot him or not— the smirk the teen wore bordering on smug.

“Figured,” he mumbled, moving so he sat _just_ a little closer than what Paul was comfortable with before coiling his tail around one of his arms. “What’s up?” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching Hannah?” 

Ethan shook his head. “Nah. Kid’s out cold. I _may_ be a demon from like, the depths of hell or wherever, but I _was_ pretty damn good with kids before… y’know—” Raising a claw, he cut himself off by dragging it across his throat in a slashing motion. 

A wince tugged at Paul’s lips. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “that… makes sense, actually.” 

It didn’t. Not in his mind— but then again, Hannah _had_ seemed to be warming up to him more day by day… 

_Maybe he_ was _good with kids._

Not every punk needed to have a mean streak after all, though Ethan Green _did_ seem to have one a mile long— _but he can’t lie—_

“—were you payin’ attention to anything I just said?” 

Shoot. 

Well. 

Just because _Ethan_ couldn’t...

“...a little,” Paul lied.

Ethan rolled his eyes. The moonlight reflected funnily in them— causing them to gleam like those of a cat before he blinked and shifted how he was sitting. “...c’mon, you’ve gotta at least _try_ if you’re gonna pull this shit,” he huffed out, “I was askin’ what you were thinkin’ about so late.” 

The ring dug harder into his palm. “Oh,” he managed to get out. 

The demon beside him shifted his wings. “Oh?” He echoed. “Just the fuckin’ letter O?” 

“I— _no_ —” 

“Then what _is_ on your mind?” 

The lie was _right_ there. He could feel it sitting on his tongue, stewing there just behind his lips, and for a moment, he considered letting it slip out. He had a reason not to tell Ethan, after all, because the demon seemed the type who’d run his mouth straight to Emma, but…

“...promise you won’t tell?”

Fuck it.

Maybe talking it out with someone would help, and as much as Ethan wasn’t his first choice… he was _also_ his only option. 

The fact that Ethan broke into a wide grin wasn’t exactly reassuring. “I _knew_ you weren’t thinkin’ of nothin’,” he crowed, scooting _closer_ and stretching his wings just enough that the scarlet membrane threatened to brush against Paul’s back, causing Paul to stiffen involuntarily. 

“What, you read minds now?” 

Ethan waved him off. “Nah,” he answered, not seeming to even _notice_ Paul’s discomfort— or if he did, he didn’t care. “Not allowed.”

“ _What?”_

Ethan’s expression dropped. 

Their eyes locked. 

There wasn’t so much as a _touch_ of his previous smirk on his lips as he leaned just a little closer, slowly inhaled, and spoke. 

“Paul. I’m fucking with you.” 

The laugh that he let out in response was nothing short of awkward. 

_Oh._

_Well that’s a little less terrifying._

It was easy to forget that Ethan _was_ , in fact, a paranormal entity with immense power _and_ the ability to fucking _obliterate_ whoever stood in his way if he was given the proper permissions, seeing as he really just looked like some tired teenager, albeit, one with fangs. 

Luckily for Paul, Ethan didn’t seem to notice— the demon giving a small snort of laughter before leaning forward and tapping at his knees. “...so… c’mon already.” 

Paul clamped his lower lip between his teeth. 

“...just thinking about Emma,” he finally admitted, clenching his hand into a tighter fist around the ring he’d been holding onto for far too long. 

Ethan gave a small nod. “Yeah, that checks. Undead married couple—”

“We’re not married!” 

It fell from his lips before he could stop it, and the second it _did_ , he froze up. If his heart still beat, it would’ve been threatening to crack a rib. 

_Shit._

The lack of a heartbeat made things worse when he was panicking. 

There wasn’t even a noise to drown out the thoughts in his head, that rushing river threatening to sweep him away and drown him in its murky depths with every second that passed in silence between himself and—

“Huh,” Ethan remarked. “Could’a fooled me. Just weren’t a proposal before ya both kicked it or…”

When he trailed off, Paul found himself nodding. “...something like that,” he agreed, at which Ethan clicked his tongue sympathetically. 

“That fuckin’ blows.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that caught Paul off guard. It sounded almost like he _meant_ it. 

Even his expression seemed genuine, brows drawn together and eyes focused downward in a proper look of sympathy— one that remained even when their eyes met once more. 

“So just… shortage of a ring that’s keepin’ ya then?” 

Again, a lie threatened to escape Paul.

Again, for some reason, he bit it back. 

“...no,” he admitted. 

“ _No?_ ” 

The fact that Ethan sounded downright incredulous caused Paul to give a laugh— a real one— though it was quick to fade when the demon continued to speak. 

“Then what the fuck’s stoppin’ you? I mean, _shit_ , you’re _already_ kinda stuck with her and living with her for… the foreseeable future or what the fuck ever— shoot your shot!” 

_He’s enthusiastic._

It seemed almost foreign, but as Ethan gave a grin and shifted how he was sitting— doing something that Paul could only describe as _wiggling_ in place like an overager puppy— it was the only thing he could truly liken it to, and although it _did_ lighten his mood just a little…

His gaze dropped to his lap. 

His hands twitched. 

The ring pressed against his skin— a constant reminder of the fact that he hadn’t gone and given it to the person it was meant for. 

“I’m just… nervous, I guess?”

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “That she’ll say _no_?”

“Well…” Paul’s head wobbled slightly from side to side. One of his hands rose, fingers moving to tangle in his tie. “Y _eah_. Wouldn’t you be?”

“Not if I were you!” Ethan countered in a scoff. “Have ya fuckin’ _seen_ the way she looks at you?”

Paul flinched when Ethan’s claws nearly brushed against one of his arms— the teen giving a jerky flick of his wrist in what looked like it could’ve been a point in Paul’s direction. 

“I mean, _gee-zus_ , you two looked like you were gonna start sucking face on the couch last time I left ya alone. She’s like, totally smitten, dude.” 

“...really?”

When the word left him, Ethan’s expression dropped momentarily into disbelief before a look bordering on _offended_ flashed across his face. 

“Uh, _yeah!_ Ain’t you supposed to get better at picking that shit up when you’re like, an adult? I’m a fuckin’ teenager and even _I_ can see it.”

Paul sighed. 

“No, you’re oversimplifying it, I just…” Trailing off, slowly uncurling his fingers from where they held the ring, Paul exhaled slowly and bit his lip. “I’m just worried that if she _does_ say no—”

“She won’t,” Ethan interrupted, “trust me on this one.”

Paul inhaled sharply. A muscle in his jaw twitched. 

“But if she _does_ ,” he continued, “we’ll be stuck together for _eternity_ , I— I don’t wanna have to deal with that, I… I think it’d kill me all over again.”

_Wouldn’t be the first time she’s done that._

She’d always taken his breath away. Every time he’d seen her over at Beanies, every time she’d shot him a smile when the door rang and he’d sauntered in to be greeted as ‘Black Coffee Guy’, every time he dropped a tip in the jar and earned a laugh that had made his then-beating heart stutter in his chest. 

And then on the night of the meteor, she’d stolen his breath right away from him. His last exhale had been on a note— one sang for her. 

He’d put together what had happened since then. 

The gas line must’ve gone out when the meteor came in through the ceiling, and with the deep breathing he’d been doing causing the poison to seep into his lungs all the faster...

He hadn’t stood a chance, and that wasn’t even the worst part, because if he _thought_ about it, the only reason he’d been breathing so deeply was because Emma had asked him to sing…

“...jeez,” Ethan mumbled, causing Paul to look up from where he’d been absently fiddling with the ring. 

Paul hummed in acknowledgement. “...yeah,” he agreed, “ _jeez._ ” 

“That’s kinda fuckin’ dark, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, but…” Pausing, almost like he was making sure Paul was paying attention, Ethan gave a loose shrug and scratched the back of his neck. “Honestly, do you really think she _would_ say no?” 

Paul shrugged right back. “...I don’t know. I mean, I _know_ she cares about me, but… she kinda thinks marriage is… stupid, I guess?” 

“To be fair, marriage _is_ kind of stupid—”

“Not helping.”

“—I wasn’t fucking _finished_ talking, _Matthews_.” Leaning back on his hands and spreading his wings with a soft, leathery noise, Ethan exhaled a soft sigh and shot Paul a sidelong glance. “Look. If it it makes you feel any better… when it comes to the whole ‘does she care or doesn’t she’, I… I fuckin’ get it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s how I feel about—”

Ethan’s words caught in his throat.

His expression changed in _seconds_ . What had once been an almost cocky smirk had melted into something that looked genuinely _shocked_ , though before Paul could question it— abruptly, Ethan stood and flared his wings out. 

“—nothing,” he corrected himself. “Fuck. Must be gettin’ tired.” 

Paul nodded. 

That made sense, it was getting kind of—

_...wait—_

“...I thought demons didn’t _get_ —”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. 

Without doing so much as give a warning, Ethan leapt off the roof, beat his wings once to keep his balance, and landed heavily on the grass with a thump. 

“Night, Paul,” he called upward over his shoulder. 

His voice sounded thin. 

The back door snapped shut behind him, and like that, Paul was alone on the roof with his thoughts, along with one that Hannah had shared with him. 

_Should._

_Should._

_Should._

But he _hadn’t_. 

He’d missed his chance. 

It had been divine intervention that had offed him then— stopped him before he’d gotten a chance to start, and when he stood up to drift off the roof— it stopped him again. 

Because when he stood, he lowered his hand. 

And when he lowered his hand, he loosened his grip. 

And when he loosened his grip, a certain band that had been in his grasp slipped from it, glimmered in the low light, hit the roof once, twice, and then _rolled_ off into the darkness before he could do so much as even process that he’d dropped it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm leaving it on a cliffhanger for two weeks.
> 
> Sorry not sorry :)


	25. why rush?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Heavy emotional manipulation and horror imagery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY BABES! Back from hiatus! Sorry I was gone so long, had some personal matters to attend to (christmas in the closet, amirite?) but I really hope you enjoy this chapter all the same!

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

This couldn’t be happening. 

This was _not_ , in fact, happening, because it was fucking _crazy_ and _stupid_ and _insane_ , and with every step into the house Ethan took, hands curled into fists and mind churning away with thoughts that jumbled against each other and didn’t make a lick of sense, that was the only thing on his mind.

That it wasn’t happening. 

That it _couldn’t_ be happening.

Because it _wasn’t_. 

Because if it _was_ , he was _fucked_ — completely and truly fucked over _sideways_ , which he sure as _shit_ couldn’t deal with. 

Not now. 

Not _ever_.

Out of all the things that could’ve happened, this had _got_ to be one of the worst case scenarios that he could think of— one that he hadn’t even fucking _considered_ because how the _hell_ was he supposed to know he was going to do the _one thing Wiley had literally told him would fuck him over?_

The trailer house was no good for pacing. 

It was too fucking _small_. 

The only real hallway was down by where Hannah was sleeping, so he wasn’t exactly going to go stomping up and down outside like he owned the fucking place, which left him storming up and down the space between the cluttered kitchen and the living room like a caged lion. He barely had room to thrash his tail, not that it stopped the damn thing from whipping back and forth like an out of control pendulum.

Six steps forward. 

Six steps back. 

That was all he had room to do before the walls would force him to turn sharply on his heel, tail scratching _hard_ against the wall every time he stomped in a new direction. 

_Fuck._

This was the _last thing he fucking needed_.

Sure, operation _hey go kill Lex Foster_ had been going haywire right since it had started, all thanks to the fact that Lex Foster wasn’t someone who really seemed as though she was someone who he’d be _able_ to kill because she’d actually seen a few horror movies, and _kinda_ knew how to deal with the supernatural, which was _such_ bullshit to have to deal with. 

And that was _before_ they’d started holding hands when she walked home from work— _really_ holding hands, without him verbally prompting her and in a way that actually laced their fingers rather than leaving their palms awkwardly touching and their fingers stiff and rigid— they were _really holding hands_ . Like a _couple_ . It seemed almost automatic, now, to reach for her fingers, and some days, he _swore_ up and down that she’d reached back. 

His heart always beat a touch faster on those days— but that didn’t _mean_ anything, or at least, it wasn’t _supposed_ to mean anything. 

It was just an energy transfer.

Just a way to hang around thanks to being from a different dimension. 

_Yeah_ , it involved holding hands, and _no_ , they didn’t have to lace their fingers and swing their arms so their conjoined hands would brush against his hip every now and again, reminding him that they were _friends_. 

Kind of.

Sort of. 

Whatever— what they _were_ wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. 

What _was_ important was the fact that holding her hand and leeching off her life force to make the useless organ in his chest pump away _wasn’t_ supposed to be something that made the normally vacant pulse under his skin turn quicker and his breaths turn sharper and—

_Fuck._

Slowly, Ethan’s pupils began to thin out. He barely saw the room around him anymore. There was too much to focus on, and that went _without_ the thundering in his head and the fact that he was barely managing to stay on his feet, his pacing turning to more of a stumble in each direction. His legs threatened to give out from under him. Everything felt like it was falling out from under him, and now it was his own fucking _body_ , the traitorous thing that it was. 

His stomach was twisting into knot after knot. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

This wasn’t _supposed_ to happen— he was supposed to kill her, not—

His face darkened. 

A flush of warmth shot across his cheeks. 

His hollow chest seized. 

In the back of his mind, a voice rose, very, very quietly. Wiley’s. It was just a memory, but it made gooseflesh rise along his arms under his jacket. 

_“That ain’t gonna be a_ problem _for you, is it?”_

He’d said it wouldn’t be a problem _then_ , and it hadn’t been a lie when he’d said it _then_ , but now… it _was_ technically a lie, because he’d gone and—

His claws dug into his palms. 

_Nope._

_Not gonna fucking think about it._

It was stupid to call it that— a _lie_ — anyway, because that wasn’t what it was. 

Ethan Green was a lot of things. He was dead, he was a demon, he was supposed to kill Lex Foster, he was _going_ to get a second chance, regardless of what happened— he _had_ to get a second chance to fix everything— and he was doing just _fine… not_ being in love with her.

At all— and he was _not_ a fucking liar when it came right down to it. 

His breath shuddered on his next inhale. His wings fluttered and twitched, threatening to open, instinctively moving to get him away from what was causing his whole body to feel like it was crumbling.

_When did this fucking happen?_

There had to have been something that had led to him nearly telling Paul something that wasn’t true on the roof— some tipping point that had sent him tumbling over the edge of _caring_ for her to—

His jaw tensed.

The wicked teeth that lined his mouth pressed _hard_ against each other. 

His hands dug into his pockets, claws threatening to tear the inner seam of his jacket. 

It had to have been a recent thing.

Something must’ve changed, though _fuck_ if he could put his claw on _when_ it had gone and changed. 

He was just confused, that was it. 

She made his heart beat— made his insides twist and flutter— that was the only reason, he… he’d gone and confused it. Confused it with feelings of affection. 

The knot in his throat tightened when he tried to swallow. 

_When?_

When, and more importantly, _why?_

Ethan’s pacing quickened.

Six steps forward.

Six steps back.

His tail clicked against the counter. His sneakers squeaked whenever he stopped to turn, shoulders drawn up just about to his ears in a defensive position that he couldn’t even _explain_ , because there was _no way_ that he’d meant what he didn’t say.

Her name had just settled on his tongue because she was one of the only people he’d been _able_ to talk to for a year. 

Her face had drifted across his thoughts because— _again_ — she was the only person he’d interacted with all that much since biting the dust, and she made his pupils round out when she held his hand, made his heart double in beats, made genuine laughs pull from him that weren’t sinister, she did all of that because she was _her_ , and that was _fine_ —

Or it _would_ be, if he wasn’t _him_. 

If she didn’t make him feel the way she did. 

If things were different. 

The walls were closing in. 

Everything around him felt too small. His wings were on the verge of brushing against either wall, walls that he _swore_ up and down had somehow moved closer in the seconds it had taken him to screw his eyes shut and wrench his hands from his pockets, bringing them to grip his horns and _pull_. The ends of his claws clacked against them. 

Slowly, he doubled over. 

His eyes stayed shut, and in hindsight, it was a fucking stupid move, because it left his head clear of everything, save for the images flickering to life in his mind— images and _sensations_ and words that had left him with his heart beating all the faster when she’d squeezed his hand.

He shouldn’t have been thinking of it, but thinking about Lex wasn’t something he could just _stop_ doing once he started, and that was because…

Ethan’s claws slid down his horns, moving to dig into his curls where he tangled them in and gave his hair a sharp yank— tugging until the strands slipped from his fingers, and when they did, he dragged them down his lapels. 

_Fuck._

How come he hadn’t noticed?

He wasn’t exactly _observant_ or anything, but he wasn’t completely fucking oblivous, was he? He’d had no way of knowing that there was anything other than a friendship being started, right? There’d been no way of telling what the fuck was going to happen when he’d suggested holding hands as a way of transferring energy— he couldn’t have predicted that it’d lead to laughing and banter and a feeling of warmth that _definitely_ wasn’t part of sapping her energy. 

There wasn’t one moment. 

Not a smile— though he’d seen plenty.

Not a laugh— though whenever she let one slip around him, he’d always find himself joining in with the noise. 

He couldn’t just say it had happened in an instant. It was just… a lot of little things, and _maybe_ it wasn’t love— it was _probably_ just a little crush that had gotten out of hand. If he’d had the ability to interact with anybody else, he would’ve picked somebody else, right?

...right?

Slowly, he sank to his knees. 

Fuck it. If Paul came in, he’d _probably_ just ignore the fact that he was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown, all because he was fucking up his job _spectacularly_ , thanks to the fact that Lex Foster was _Lex Foster_ , and that he was Ethan Green. 

He could’ve ruined her life. 

He _should’ve_ ruined her life by now. 

He’d had plenty of time, _and he knew just how to ruin every single hope she had and then some without fucking killing her thanks to a loose floorboard in her bedroom_ , but… 

He couldn’t. 

It wouldn’t have been hard to take the cash and move it— or even destroy it. Would’ve taken nothing more than a spilled cup of water if he was strategic, and he could probably push the blame over onto Hannah if he _really_ played his cards right, but… 

What kind of a demon _was_ he, anyway? 

Behind him, he could feel his tail jittering back and forth, harder and harder with every passing second. Too much was happening. It didn’t make any sense. He had no reason to feel the way he did. 

_I’m not in love._

Love didn’t work like this.

Demons didn’t get to fall in love. 

_Love_ was for people who were _alive_ , or for people who were named Paul Matthews and stuck pining for eternity— not for someone like him, and love _definitely_ was too strong a word for what he felt when Lex would take his hand and lead him alongside her to her workplace, cigarette loosely dangling from her fingers, thumb idly tapping on the back of his hand. 

Love couldn’t have been it. 

No. 

It was just… something else. Some other strong emotion. 

Gritting his teeth harder— hard enough that a muscle in his jaw drew so taut it seemed as though it would snap— Ethan inhaled, slowly, and breathed out through his nose so his nostrils flared. His eyes stayed closed. His chest stayed silent— the way it always was when he wasn’t in contact with—

_Fucking stop it._

—Lex. 

Her name swam up through his mind before he could force it back down where it came from, and not in the way it did whenever she was frightened or in danger— no, _this_ was fucking _different_ . He was under _no_ obligation to be thinking of her— _none—_ but there she was in his head with that smile that made her eyes lift at the corner and that laugh that always made his mood lighten and—

_Stop it._

He dug his claws into his palms. 

The fact that his heart wasn’t beating made it worse— or maybe better, because that meant that _Lex_ wasn’t there with him, it meant that he was alone, he was—

“...you done, Green?” 

_Fuck._

In an instant, he shot to his feet. 

Even before his eyes opened, he knew exactly where he was. 

The air felt _charged_ in a way, alive with an energy that made his skin crawl, and when his eyes _did_ open, he was damn near blinded by a twin set of spotlights fixated on him— his shadow blurring into a winged spot on the ground rather than a distinct silhouette. 

It took every ounce of his self control to keep his lips from pulling back in a snarl when he managed to blink the purple blotches out of his vision and his slit pupils settled on Wiley’s shape, the demon in question leaned casually against the edge of the stage that Ethan was standing in the middle of— down center. 

His tail twitched. 

Wiley quirked a brow, and when Ethan drew a shaky breath in and forced a smile, the other eyebrow arched to meet it in an expression of almost disappointed disbelief. 

“...yeah.” 

“...care to explain what that was?”

Ethan bit his lip. The lashing of his tail worsened, turning faster by the second as he crossed his arms, claws digging into his jacket. “Not really?” He tried, which, really, was his first fucking mistake.

Wiley’s eyes narrowed. 

The spotlights grew harsher, harsh enough that Ethan found himself squinting against them and taking a step toward the edge with his wings flared. 

“Not really?” Wiley echoed, taking a step closer to the stage. “The hell does that mean?” 

“Means I ain’t interested in explainin’,” Ethan shot back, unable to keep his wings from giving a heavy flap— not enough to lift him, but more than enough to send a cloud of dust cascading off the edge of the rustic stage and out into the edge of the spotlights’ glow. 

Wiley didn’t flinch. 

In return, he flared out his own wings— ones with a vibrant green separating the elongated, black scaled _fingers_ that made up the appendage— and heaved a sigh. “Look, _kid_.”

He lowered his head. 

His features fell into shadow— save for his eyes that still shone in the dark just outside of where the pool of light ended. 

“Lemme cut to the chase, alright?” 

“What’s there to cut to?” 

It was a fight to keep a confrontational tone out of his voice. He could feel it trying to pitch upward, feel his volume trying to rise, though he swallowed it back and hid it behind a toothy, forced look of ease. 

The other demon didn’t seem to buy it. 

“... _well_ ,” he murmured, moving closer to the stage _still_ , close enough that as Ethan carefully slid into a sitting position, letting his legs dangle off the ledge, he nearly bumped his sneaker against the other demon’s jacket, “there _is_ the fact that uh…”

Ethan had come to realize that when Wiley paused, it was never because he didn’t know what he was he was going to say. The fucker _always_ had some sort of words in his head. No, he didn’t pause because he was _finding_ them— he never had, not in the year Ethan had been borderline stuck with him— it was always because he wanted _Ethan_ to fill in the blank. 

...he hated that he knew what the blank was supposed to be filled with. 

Again, that name— that _face_ — slid through the back of his mind. 

The name of somebody very _alive_. 

Which was kind of the problem, seeing as she was _supposed_ to be dead. Fucker.

“...you’ve… _not_ killed a _single person_.” 

_There it fucking is._

Every damn time. 

Ethan’s hackles raised. His claws scraped along the stage floor, leaving thin runs in the wooden surface, though he barely noticed thanks to the fact that his chest was starting to feel tight again. “...yeah, I noticed,” he remarked, dryly— the atmosphere in the room growing more crushing by the second. The neck of his shirt felt like it was fucking strangling him. 

_Say something._

His tongue was a slug in his mouth— motionless and heavy, coated with lead and motionless behind his lips. 

_Fucking say something._

_Please._

_Anything._

Wiley tilted his head. “...that it?” He asked in a way that _more_ than let Ethan know that that was _not_ , in fact, it— or at least, that it shouldn’t have been it. 

His claws sank further into the wood. 

“...somethin’ tells me it’s not,” he returned as evenly as he could, “though I think I might need a hint—” 

The spotlights went out. 

Darkness crashed across his vision. 

“ _—hey!”_

“Oh, don’t be so _dramatic_.”

_Says the fucker who just shut off the lights for emphasis._

There _had_ to be some word for that, though when Ethan tried to find it and spit it, the only phrase that came to mind was _hippo_ , and that wasn’t fucking right because those were those chunky weird animals that lived in… Africa, probably? 

Hippo… something or other. 

_God_ , and now it looked like he was fucking hesitating— even though he was thinking about Africa as he blinked rapidly in an attempt to get his eyes to adjust to the pitch darkness faster. 

“...fuckin’ says you,” he settled with after a heavy pause and another blink that really, _really_ didn’t help anything, “can we put the lights back on?”

“You can see in the dark,” Wiley returned, nonchalantly flicking his wrist as he did— the outline of which was barely visible to Ethan. His eyes _were_ adjusting, but it was happening slowly. 

Then again, he really didn’t want to look at Wiley all that much. 

After all, he didn’t need his vision to know that the other demon was smirking, seeing as the sound of a snicker cut through the silence ringing in his ears. 

“Now, c’mon, Ethan, _talk to me._ ” 

His pupils expanded. The only light in the room came from the soft, red glow of the exit sign across the theater, fringing the other demon with a sickly sort of vermillion and highlighting the curve of his horns along with his slicked-back hair. 

Ethan forced himself to stay seated where he was. His legs swung idly, the sound of his heels thumping up against the underside of the ledge the only noise that passed between them. 

He knew what he was _supposed_ to talk about.

It was the same fucking thing they talked about every time— similar to a point that if he could recall the last time he’d met up with Wiley, he could _probably_ spit the same conversation right back at him without there being any change. 

His gaze drifted down to his lap. “I’ll get ‘em for you,” he started, though that was as far as he got before Wiley interrupted him with a sharp bark of a laugh. 

“ _Nah_ , Green— see, you said that _last_ time I checked up on ya, which was… what, a week ago?” 

Ethan shrugged. 

He didn’t look up. 

Didn’t _want_ to look up. 

“About that long, yeah,” he agreed, “b-but I’m serious— look, th’ contract lasts until they run off to fuckin’... wherever the hell it is they’re goin’. I’ve got time t’figure this out, alright?” There was a sharpness leaking into his words— one he couldn’t exactly bite back— and try as he might to keep his tail from flicking too hard, he could hear the harsh sound of it beginning to slither behind him against the wood of the stage. 

It only got faster when he made the mistake of meeting Wiley’s gaze. 

“Green, you’ve _had_ time to figure this out.” 

“Well, _yeah_ , but she’s put all these damn rules in place, and—”

Wiley slammed a hand down next to Ethan where he sat. 

“You can find _loopholes_ !” He hissed out, wings _flaring,_ the folds turning near brown thanks to the clash of red light on green membrane— _fuck he’s pissed_. 

Automatically, Ethan raised his hands. 

“I—” He started, though Wiley interrupted him with a thick, throaty _growl._

“Shut the _hell_ up an’ _listen!”_

Ethan snapped his mouth shut. 

Wiley didn’t even give him a condescending grin when he did.

Which was _bad_. 

_Shit. I fucked up. Fuck._

What had he done wrong? 

He was damn near certain the question was written across his face, and as he scanned Wiley’s expression for an answer, he could feel a sick, heavy knot of absolute _dread_ settling in his stomach, twisting there like a trapped snake— a living thing set on making him feel like he was going to throw up. 

He didn’t dare speak up. 

Instead, he bit down _hard_ on his tongue and watched as Wiley took a few slow, sauntering steps across the front strip between the seats and the stage— the bastard was taking his time, and from the way he was acting, he _knew_ it, though the sight of Wiley’s twitching tail and tense posture left Ethan with the sneaking suspicion that it might’ve been a good thing, maybe it’d give him time to cool off and _not_ fuck with his head—

“Why the _hell_ ,” Wiley snapped, the sudden sound of his voice enough to make Ethan stiffen, “are you _hesitating?_ ” 

_Shit._

The knot in his stomach began to twist upward into his throat. 

“I—” 

Again, he tried to speak.

Again, he was silenced by Wiley— this time, by a heated, malicious _glare_ that made his breath hitch in his throat. 

“‘Cause you sure as hell weren’t _going_ to hesitate! You _said_ you wouldn’t have a fuckin’ problem killin’ one of ‘em— an’ you’ve had _plenty_ of time! She must’ve fucked up _once_ in the… what, _weeks_ you’ve had?” 

Ethan winced. 

Wiley didn’t seem to notice. 

“So what’s th’ _issue?_ ” He bit, bringing down one foot in a sharp _stomp_ that rang through the theater’s atmosphere. “‘Cause it looks to me that the only real _problem_ is _you!_ What’s your deal?”

Beginning to pace, Wiley’s gaze stayed trained on Ethan with his every step— the sound ringing out through the theater like the ticking of a clock. 

“Do you feel _bad_ for them? Is that it?” 

_Yes._

He forced his lips to turn downward. Swallowed against the knot in his throat. 

“N-No,” he stammered, “I—”

“Do you fuckin’ _care_ if they die?”

_Yes._

_Too fucking much._

“ _No—_ ”

“Do you _love_ her?”

Ethan’s lips pulled back in a snarl. His wings opened to their fullest extent, and when they did, a sharp cry escaped his throat. 

“ _NO!”_

Wiley matched his fighting stance. 

“ _THEN WHY IS SHE STILL ALIVE?”_ He roared, and normally, that would’ve made Ethan balk and apologize, but for some reason—

_“BECAUSE I HAVEN’T FOUND A FUCKING LOOPHOLE!”_

—the words tore up from him without so much as a warning, and when he whipped his head up to face down Wiley properly, there was another light source in the room. 

_Dozens_ of other light sources. 

Green ones. 

The seats weren’t vacant anymore. 

From every row, glittering, glowing _eyes_ leered up at him— and when he noticed them, noticed them and felt his stomach drop into his shoes— a chorus of chittering _laughter_ reached his ears and made his face drain of colour. 

_Where the fuck did they come from?_

They couldn’t have entered silently. 

They were _never_ silent. 

Now that they were _here_ , the thrum of chatter and too-high laughter filled the air as Ethan breathed in as deep as he could manage, suddenly aware of how _many_ eyes were fixated on him, unblinking, inhumanly wide, still _glowing_ , illuminating their jagged grins and the tufts of fur clinging to their skin.

Wiley’s eyes gleamed alongside them. 

“ _Well_ ,” he hissed after the laughter died down and a sickly ringing had settled in Ethan’s ears in its absence, “ _Green_ , unless you want to join the _audience_ …”

The creatures in the seats behind him all stood as one, and like that, the laughter was back— back and _wrong_ , a chorus of clicks and chitters that sounded almost as though they’d been pumped through a filter and _distorted_ to a point where they sounded absolutely _nothing_ like the laughs of the people they might’ve once belonged to. 

One of his hands rose up to his throat. 

His claws tightened on his skin. 

“...no,” he whispered. 

Again, they broke into uproarious laughter, voices like nails on a chalkboard drilling into his ears to a point where he half expected blood to dribble down the sides of his head. 

Wiley watched him with that same, hideous gleam in his eyes. 

“What was that?” He piped, words somehow rising above the ghoulish chorus that rang in Ethan’s ears. 

“I said _no!”_

His own voice was lost in the noise— disappearing into the myriad of distorted voices without a trace. It felt as though it was being pulled from the air mere _seconds_ after it escaped his throat, and when he went to try again, the spotlight flashed back on— light cascading down over him and forcing him to throw an arm up to shield his face. 

“ Really?” Wiley’s voice broke through his thoughts with ease. The crowd assembled was still loud— loud enough that his mind felt as though it was twisting with every word they spoke— but Wiley’s growls were _louder_ , echoing through his head despite the fact that tonally, they came out in a whisper. “‘Cause it seems like you _want_ to— maybe I should call off our deal _early_ , hm?” 

“ _NO!”_ The cry tore from him in a guttural _wail_. Struggling to breathe in, Ethan tried in vain to find his words. "P-Please, I—”

“Maybe it’d _teach’ca_ not to throw your fuckin’ _CHANCES_ away! I mean, _shit_ , you already tossed your life _ONCE—”_

His nose pressed hard into the crook of his elbow. 

“ _I’LL FUCKING GET IT FOR YOU!”_

Silence. 

The crowd’s voices stopped. 

Their _laughter_ stopped, stopped long enough for Ethan to realize he was hyperventilating, breaths coming harshly and heavily to a point where his throat felt uncomfortably dry. 

Slowly, he lowered his arm. 

Squinted against the light.

Swallowed despite the strain it put on his throat. 

There was only one pair of eyes looking back at him. 

His shoulders heaved. His stomach was twisting violently, and try as he might to stand steady, he could feel his tail beginning to thrash back and forth behind him. 

Again, he swallowed. 

“I’ll do it,” he reiterated, voice quavering ever so slightly. “I… I wasn’t puttin’ nothin’ off, b-but I’ll try to… I— I’ll speed it up.”

_Somehow._

His throat felt like it was being squeezed. 

The smile he was desperately clinging to threatened to fall. His breaths were uneven, and although his gaze was locked on Wiley, his peripheral vision felt too wide— too many things showing themselves, the empty— _is it even empty?_ — theater looking like a looming abyss around him, Wiley in the center. 

Just out of the spotlight’s glow. 

Grinning that threatening, toothy grin. 

“...good,” he purred, “I’ll leave you to it. The little one’s asleep, yeah?”

 _Hannah_.

Ethan wanted to correct.

_Her name is Hannah._

Instead, he set his jaw. 

“Yeah, she’s out cold,” he agreed instead, words bordering on a rumble— one that Wiley matched. 

“Well, let’s make that _permanent_ , yeah?” 

He didn’t get a chance to respond before a horrid, _sinking_ feeling grasped him and made his head spin, and when he closed his eyes against it before letting them shoot back open. 

When they did, he was crumpled on the living room floor.

Panting, slightly. 

Struggling to catch his breath, Ethan shakily rose to his feet, bracing one hand _hard_ against the couch to a point where his claws nearly pushed through the ratty material to the cushions below it, and when he _did_ find his balance, he almost wished he hadn’t. Because he had a promise to keep. 

_You have one to keep to Hannah, too_ —

He pushed the thought away. 

_Fuck_ that. His promise to Hannah was unimportant. Demons lied all the time. He could lie to an insignificant little girl about keeping her safe if it meant he’d get another shot. He’d do it right this time. He wouldn’t fuck everything up. Not again. 

He just had to ruin _her_ life, first. 

Simple as that. 

Creeping slowly, as though one heavy step would bring the roof down on him, Ethan forced his trembling limbs into motion, holding tight to his tail to keep it from hitting the walls of the narrow hallway. His vision threatened to swim, threatened to blur with tears, but he forced it back as he set his hand on the doorknob, took a shaking breath in, and turned it. 

He didn’t expect her to be awake when he did. 

* * *

She’d heard him in the living room. 

Stuffed spider on her lap and intelligent gaze fixed on the door, Hannah Foster sat upright in bed and offered the silhouette in the doorway a soft smile, despite the fact that the glow in his eyes was a little frightening. 

Less than it had been before, though. 

“...Ethan?” She tried, quietly, despite knowing it couldn’t be anybody else thanks to the twin shadows of horns that fell over her bed. 

For a second, there was silence between them. 

As much as she didn’t want it to, her heart began to race. She couldn’t help it. It was different when Lex or Paul or even Emma came into her room late at night to check up on her— Ethan had _never_ come into her room just by himself without being invited, and when he _was_ invited, he never really _hesitated_ the way he was now, head tucked down toward his shoulders and hands in his pockets. 

After what felt like an eternity, Ethan coughed— a low, throaty thing that bordered on a growl. -

“...you’re awake,” he murmured, at which Hannah gave a meek shrug. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, softly, and after a moment’s pause, she slowly pulled one of her hands out from under her blanket and tapped on the side of her head, wincing. “Webby,” she added after a small pause spent rubbing her temple and chewing on her lip. 

She was quiet _now_ , but in the seconds before Ethan had opened the door, Hannah had been all but wrenched from sleep by a series of tugs on her mind that had grown stronger, stronger, _stronger_ , before Webby had disappeared in a flash, leaving her sitting bolt upright in bed as she was now, staring into Ethan’s eyes— taking instant note of his slit pupils.

_Dishonest?_

Webby didn’t respond to her voice. 

Swallowing nervously, she drew her stuffed spider into her lap and squeezed it tightly, fingers digging a little into the plush toy’s fur when Ethan stepped past the doorframe despite the fact that he offered a crooked smile and a soft question. 

“She chatty tonight?” 

Hannah shrugged. 

“Quiet, now,” she returned, watching him like a hawk. 

Webby _never_ woke her unless something bad was happening. Something _really_ bad— like the time her mom had barged in and she’d _barely_ managed to slip her sketchbook between the crack in the wall and her bedframe before yanking her covers over her head and trying not whimper at the sound of Lex’s voice turning strained, arguing in a hushed whisper that _Hannah’s fucking asleep, please, don’t do this right now_ —

**_Hannah. Don’t._ **

The thought vanished when Webby returned, though before Hannah could try holding tight to her, the spider once again disappeared from her mind. 

_Why can’t you just stay when I ask?_

No answer. 

Not even an attempt at one. 

Just a silence that seemed impossibly huge as Ethan flicked his tail and leaned a little against the doorframe. 

_Webby, please..._

“She asleep?” The demon asked. 

Hanah shrugged. “Doesn’t sleep,” she explained, more than a little confused as to _why_ Ethan was standing before her. He wasn’t one to just… come into her room for no reason, and _certainly_ wasn’t one to come in and make smalltalk, and as much as she wanted to push aside her unease, she just… couldn’t. 

_Why are you here?_

She couldn’t just ask him. She _wanted_ to, but when he slipped past the doorway and into the room like a shadow, the words stuck in her throat, leaving her to do nothing but listen to him as he bobbed his head and sighed. 

“Ah. Like Paul an’ Emma, huh?” 

“Sort of.”

Automatically, she drew her knees tighter against her chest when he stepped closer still, close enough that one of his clawed hands ended up resting on the edge of her mattress, though when their eyes met… 

It should’ve been reassuring, only it… _very_ much wasn’t, even when he smiled. It looked more like he was baring his teeth rather than trying to reassure her as he crouched ever-so-slightly to bring their eyes to the same level. 

“ _Well_ ,” he drawled, “ _you_ , Miss Foster, _should_ be sleepin’. It’s late, _and—_ ” Ethan stretched out his wings and sighed quietly. “—you’ve got school in th’ morning.”

_Right…_

She’d almost forgotten about that little detail. 

Bunching up her comforter as well as she was able, Hannah cocked her head when Ethan sat on the end of her bed, the mattress creaking softly under his weight. “With you?” She asked, quietly.

He froze. 

Something about his demeanour changed. 

It was subtle— but in the darkness, Hannah watched his pupils expand just a touch, just enough to make her racing heart rate start to calm back down. There was still something _wrong_ about him, sure, still something that made her skin tingle, something about the way he was _sitting_ — stiff and ready to pounce— but… when he spoke up again, his voice seemed gentler. 

In a smooth motion, his tail lifted to curl in his lap where it lay still. “...hey, maybe,” he answered, sighing and settling down a little further. “We’ll see in the morning, _which_ is why _you_ need to nod off, alright?” Lowering his head and waggling a finger in her direction, Ethan gave a low huff of a laugh when she scrunched up her face in response. 

“...not tired, though,” she defended. 

“Lying to me?” Ethan questioned, at which she shook her head. 

“N—”

Hannah interrupted herself with a yawn. 

She couldn’t hold it back, and when her eyes flicked back open, she tried in vain to keep them from drooping shut once more— focusing instead on the demon watching her and the expression he was wearing. 

One that looked less sharp than it had a moment ago, but not one that looked _comfortable_ . It was the same sort of look Lex would get whenever Hannah would ask her if she’d had a good day at work. One of consideration. Deliberation, almost, and the way her expression would change afterward would _usually_ tell Hannah if she was being honest or not— but she hadn’t exactly that sort of expertise when it came to Ethan Green, who… suddenly couldn't seem to meet her eyes.

“...awh,” he huffed, scuffing a heel on the ground, “well, I’ll leave ya to it, then. Someone’s gotta keep watch for when your sister gets home, yeah?” 

Hannah tilted her head. “Paul?” 

Ethan snorted in response. “You really think _Paul_ could scare anyone off?” 

“No, but he watches—”

In the back of her mind, a headache fizzled to life— heavy enough to make her instinctively pull her hands up to the sides of her head and dig her fingers into her hair. 

**_Not watching. Big announcement. Worried. Isn’t paying attention. Alone for now. Made a mistake._ **

Her stomach twisted. 

_Mistake?_

The last time Webby had said a mistake had been made, Ethan had waltzed into their lives, and as much as that had been a _good_ mistake, what was—

**_Good mistake._ **

_Oh._

She relaxed.

Relaxed enough to look up at Ethan where he stood— enough to realize that he was looking her in the eye once more, concern written across his face, one hand extended, though he was quick to pull it back when she sat more upright. 

“...he watches?” Ethan prompted.

Hannah shrugged. 

There were more words she _could’ve_ said, sure, but… it seemed like too much effort. The air between them was still charged with something she couldn’t quite name— something that made it hard to breathe, and she was sure Ethan felt it too. She could hear his tail flick, flick, flicking against the doorframe, hitting it repeatedly in a rhythm that thumped into her skull. 

Her eyes slipped closer to closed. 

Ethan huffed out a laugh. “Right. G’night, Banana,” he murmured, reaching for her momentarily, only to freeze once again— inches from her— and curl his fingers into a fist before retracting his hand. 

A muscle in his jaw visibly twitched.

The noise of his tail grew louder. 

“...night, Ethan.” 

Her voice seemed muted in comparison to the sound of her own heart once again picking up tempo, though there wasn’t a reason for it, because when it did—

All Ethan did was shoot her a gentle smile, sigh quietly, and turn on his heel, lingering momentarily with his back to her and his claws pressed tight against his palms. 

He _was_ leaving, though, and that was enough of a reassurance to make her prod at the other presence in her head, settling back down with her head against her pillow. 

_Webby? Tell me a story?_

Usually, that would be enough to win the spider over. There’d be a tinkle of laughter that would sounded almost like bells ringing through her mind— some high and some deep and brassy— and then Webby would fill her dreams with tales of maidens and monsters, though hers always had a happy ending and—

**_Ask him. He has lots._ **

Hannah blinked.

_Ethan?_

**_Yes. He’s leaving. Ask now._ **

Without thinking, she obeyed, “Story?” 

Ethan froze in the doorway. 

“...it’s sorta late, kiddo, I don’t think—”

“ _Please?_ ” Hannah interrupted, sitting up a little straighter. “Webby says you know some good ones.”

“Does she?”

Hannah nodded. “Mhm!” She agreed, shifting a little to the left and patting the now vacant spot beside her. “Never wrong. You have stories. Tell one?” 

Ethan winced. His eyes flicked downward, fixating on one of the sleeves of his jacket. The claws of his opposite hand moved, coming to pick at the leather cuff, and as Hannah watched, she could see that last bit of belligerence fading from his expression. 

“...a story, huh?” 

Again, Hannah gave a sharp nod, once again patting the spot on the bed next to her, shuffling over enough to make room for him. “Short one,” she added as means of conviction, shifting her weight almost excitedly. 

Sure, there was still something frightening about him, but… the more she looked at him— _really_ looked at him— the easier it was to ignore the little pieces of him that scared her. His horns. His claws. His wings. His fangs. 

They were all just… part of someone who was Lex’s age, and part of someone who Webby _said_ would tell her a story, so… he couldn’t be that bad, and that last bit of fear faded when their eyes met. 

_Honest circles._

Honest circles coupled with an honest, soft laugh. “ _Well_ , since ya asked so _nicely…_ ” Sauntering back into the room with his tail swishing, Ethan paused just at the edge of her bed, his gaze flicking uncertainly down to where she patted the mattress. 

Hannah repeated the action. 

“...stay?” She pleaded. 

There was still some residual fear clinging to her— there in the fact that her voice was _still_ a little quieter than it would’ve been were she not a little nervous, but… she forced it aside when Ethan took a slow, steady breath in and nodded. 

“Alright,” he grumbled, “then shove over— I don’t wanna end up gettin’ barbecued or whatever ‘cause of some contract.” As he spoke, Hannah watched as he folded up his wings and began to slide into place next to her, hesitantly settling his weight on the mattress— though only after Hannah all but wedged herself against the wall to avoid touching him.

He was _tall_. It was always easy to forget how tall he really was, but when he was sitting next to her in such close quarters, he seemed almost larger than life— though that might’ve in part been the fault of the huge wings that looked to be awkwardly folded against his sides and the long, snakelike tail flicking back and forth where it dangled over the side of the bed. 

It should’ve been scarier to have him so close, but in all honesty… it was having the opposite effect, because as much as he was scary… if he was going to hurt her, he would’ve by now. 

...right?

**_Hannah. Don’t overthink this. He’s safe. Can’t hurt. Made a deal._ **

Right. 

Blinking up at him, Hannah forced the thoughts out of her mind, and after a moment of deliberation, smiled as gently as she could manage. “...story?” 

Ethan coughed. “Yeah, sure, I… guess I’ve got a couple kickin’ around,” he reasoned, stretching in place— wings _nearly_ brushing up against her side before they flicked back closed. “You lookin’ for anythin’ special, kid?” 

Hannah shook her head. “Just a story.” 

One of his hands moved to scratch the base of his horns. “...okay,” he mumbled, slowly, “don’t all them stories start with _once upon a time?”_ As those words left his lips, his voice dipped into something that seemed to hold a sense of grandeur to it— like an overzealous announcer— that made her giggle softly, those last shreds of unease starting to fade away as he settled down a little more comfortably. There was still a good inch of space between them, alongside most of a blanket, and he seemed to notice that, grinning down at her when she gave an enthusiastic nod. 

“Lexie’s always start like that,” she agreed, at which Ethan chuckled.

“Then… _once upon a time,_ there lived a very, _very_ big dragon.” 

Hannah perked up. 

Ethan didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were half-lidded, focused idly on his hands as he continued to speak. “And he was, like, a real _mean_ dragon. Huge teeth, claws, wings that blocked out the sun when he stretched, scales as black as night and as thick as steel, and he lived _way_ down deep in a cave with no light.” 

Slowly, her eyes slid shut. 

“No light,” she echoed, shuddering as one of Ethan’s wings twitched beside her in a way that sent a chill across her skin. 

“Right,” he agreed, “no light down there, way down deep, and… not much of anythin’ else, either. And every day, the dragon would just… lay there in the dark, and think.”

“About?”

“Oh, everything, but… mostly about how lonely he was. After all, he didn’t have any treasure, or a princess to guard, he spent his time deep down in the dark by himself, until one day… he heard footsteps outside his lair. _Thump. Thump. Thump_.” 

On every _thump_ , Hannah bit her lip to keep from giggling as he brought his hand down a few times on the mattress, emphasizing the words before seeming satisfied, the sound of his tail’s flicking beginning to slow. 

“The person was a _warlock_ — a powerful magic-user from the mountains, and the warlock promised that if the dragon listened to him, he’d be made the most powerful beast in the skies. Now, the dragon thought that sounded pretty cool, so the two of them struck up a deal, and like that, the dragon agreed. After all, as much as he _was_ a strong creature, there was only one problem with that. He wasn’t allowed to leave the deep dark without the warlock’s help.”

“...not free,” Hannah agreed, opening her eyes a smidge— enough to see Ethan’s blurry shape through her eyelashes, “trapped.” 

His body stiffened. 

His tail stopped. 

“...trapped,” he agreed, “exactly, yeah, he was _trapped_ , until the warlock came along an’ let him out. The dragon, naturally, was real excited. After all, sure, he _was_ a dragon, but he’d never _flown,_ and that was… really all he did those first few days. After all, he hadn’t seen the kingdom since before he’d been put down in the deep dark, and he _missed_ it. Missed the sun, and the rolling plains, and the trees and the grass— he even missed the humans, even if they _were_ annoying.” 

There was a melancholy tone weaving through his words. One that almost sounded… longing, and one that made Hannah force her eyes a little further open to read his expression. 

He still wasn’t looking at her.

Now, his eyes were focused on their ceiling, shining— always shining— in the light filtering under the door despite the fact that they were mostly closed. His voice still held a bit of a rumble to it, one that easily painted the picture of the lonely dragon and the warlock— though the dragon in her mind…

Well, he had a set of scarlet horns and red membranes on his wings. 

Not that Ethan needed to know that. 

“...and one day, on one of his routine flights over a small village, the dragon heard a cry for help— one he usually would’ve ignored, but… the voice sounded just like his had, when he was in that dark place.”

“...alone?” Hannah finished for him. 

The demon winced. 

“...yeah,” he agreed, “alone— and he thought that was just… unfair for someone t’end up like that, so… he followed the sounds, and when he arrived, he found a pair of maidens being menaced by a horrible _witch_.” 

A chill wound down Hannah’s spine. There was something about how he said the word— said it with a genuine _growl_ working into his voice— that made the witch seem like more of a threat. Automatically, she moved a touch closer to him. 

He didn’t seem to notice. 

“Now,” he continued, glancing down at her, “the dragon _wanted_ to kill her— but stopped when one of the maidens, the eldest one, told him not to harm the old hag, but to keep her far away, so… the dragon agreed. Started playin’ little tricks on her. Nothin’ big, but… every time she tried to ride off in her carriage, the wheels were bent out of shape, get it? Or her horse would be untied from the cart— damn thing would run away. People just said she was cursed to have bad luck.”

“Cursed,” Hannah parroted, softly. 

Ethan smiled. “Yeah, see, but it weren’t no curse— it was a real sneaky dragon followin’ her around.” 

In spite of herself, Hannah grinned back at the mental image of an enormous creature creeping around through an old timey town. 

“Quiet dragon,” she informed him, at which he gave a laugh.

“Yeah— for a dragon, he was real quiet. Nobody ever saw him, and when he wasn’t playing tricks on the witch, he was with the maidens—”

“Names?” She interrupted, curiously. 

Ethan blinked. “What?”

“Names?” She repeated, raising her eyebrows. “ _Their_ names?” 

_“Oh_ , uh…” Trailing off and furrowing his brow, Ethan bit down a little on his lip “Sure, ‘course they had names, they were uh…” His face scrunched up. “... _Hex?”_ He tried, cautiously, “And, uh, _Lannah_.” 

Hannah cocked her head, and for a few seconds, she studied him, before seeming satisfied and settling back down. “Nice names.”

_Mine?_

**_Listen to the story, Hannah,_ ** Webby responded, though there _was_ a slight hint of those bells of laughter in her voice, which gave her all the answer she needed. She _was_ right— this _was_ a story about her and Lex, which meant—

“Yeah, well, that’s just the story,” Ethan huffed, sharply drawing her back to the present, “ _now_ , Lex and Hannah—”

“Hex and Lannah,” Hannah interrupted, smugly. 

Ethan’s face darkened. Not menacingly— his cheeks _literally_ turned a shade darker. 

“ _Right_ ,” he choked, coughing slightly, “ _Hex_ and _Lannah_ — they were real sweet girls. Hex was always tellin’ the dragon off, Lannah was always making him think things through... the dragon didn’t think he’d _like_ hangin’ out with a coupl’a maidens so much, but as the days went on, he… started feeling things he hadn’t before. After all, dragons don’t exactly _have_ many friends or nothin’, so he… got kinda attached to ‘em, and he… really liked it.” 

His voice was growing quieter. Less like the storytelling tone he’d started with— something almost nervous. Timid, even, like he wasn’t quite sure where the words were coming from. “‘Cept for one day, the warlock decided t’pay him a visit. Getting back to him on the whole ‘being powerful’ thing an’ all that, and what he needed in exchange for that was one of the maidens.”

_...oh._

She’d almost forgotten about the other character— the other character that, from what she could gather, didn’t _match_ anybody she’d met—

**_You don’t want to meet him, Hannah. He’s bad._ **

Her skin prickled. 

_Okay._

And that was that. 

Whenever Webby said someone was bad, she was _never_ wrong. There weren’t many people the spider hated outright, but when she _did_ dislike someone, it was always someone that gave Hannah a feeling— the same feeling that she could see reflected back at her in the way Ethan’s lips had curled a little back in distaste, revealing his fangs. 

“So the dragon had a bit of a problem, see, ‘cause he _promised_ to protect the maidens, but… he _did_ make a deal with the warlock, and… that _did_ come first, right?”

His eyes flicked down to meet her own. 

_Scared._

“...right,” she agreed after giving a nervous swallow. “...so… what did the dragon do?” 

Ethan shrugged. His wings brushed up against the wall, one of them unfurling and slipping behind her back to lightly bat the corner of the room. “Well, what do _you_ think?”

Hannah’s brows furrowed.

What _did_ she think?

_Webby?_

No answer. 

Even though he _did_ ask her— _not_ the entity that visited her head— it still made a small knot of unease form in Hannah’s stomach as she forced herself to keep his gaze, grounding herself with the fact that his pupils were wide, disarming circles.

_Honest. He’s being honest._

“...not sure,” she admitted after a pause spent fiddling with the ends of her sleeves, “but… hope the dragon wins.” 

Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” He asked, “what’s the dragon gotta do for that?” 

This time, it was her turn to give a shrug. 

“Not sure,” she repeated, “but he’ll know.” 

His cocky expression fell. 

For a second, it looked almost as though he was going to cry, though before Hannah could truly process it, he gave a soft huff and shook his head. “Right,” he agreed, stiffening, legs shuffling as if to stand, “ _well_ , you’ve gotta get to bed, so…”

She moved without thinking. 

In an instant, she closed the distance between them in a tight hug, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her face to the stiff leather of his jacket— breathing in the smell of smoke, smoke and oil and other things that she couldn’t call anything other than _Ethan._

“Goodnight, dragon,” she murmured, only moving closer when slowly, _stiffly_ , he laid himself down beside her— the back of his wing lightly folding over her like a blanket. 

Although his chest was quiet sounding— not at all like Lex’s that was always alight with a heartbeat— she could still hear his breathing, and after a moment, it was broken by a low, _rumbling_ noise. One of contentment. 

_Purring?_

**_Yes._ **

“...night, Hannah.” He returned, quietly.

Hannah only managed a hum in response. 

As much as it was odd— completely backward— while she was wrapped up in his wings and pressed against his jacket with her eyes closed— the deep, all-encompassing noise of his purring rolling around her in the dark— she felt _safe_. 

Safe enough to nod off with her arms still wrapped around him and a soft, crooked smile on her face. 


	26. ready set (let's go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! After this chapter, I'm taking an additional week of hiatus. Mental health issues got bad again, though I should see you all two Sundays from now! Cheers!
> 
> -Nervy

While Ethan and Hannah were having their moment, Paul Matthews was losing his goddamn mind. 

To be fair, it was for good reason, seeing as he’d managed to  _ drop _ one of the few things that mattered to him, but as he stood there on the roof, hand dangling loosely at his side, for a few seconds, all he could do was stare out at the darkness of the backyard with one thought in his mind. 

_ I did not just do that.  _

There was  _ no _ way he’d just done that. 

Because if he  _ had _ done that, that meant that… 

If he still had a beating heart, it would’ve picked up pace. 

If he could still feel woozy, a wave of fatigue would’ve hit him upside the head and he would’ve wobbled in place, which would’ve been dangerous if he was still able to be hurt or die, but instead, all Paul felt was completely  _ numb _ . 

Slowly, shakily, he breathed in, and when he exhaled, a familiar word formed on his lips. “Okay.” 

Then again. “Okay.”

And again. “ _ Okay. _ ” 

Not that it  _ was _ okay, though, because he’d just dropped the  _ unused engagement ring  _ he’d been holding onto  _ since before he’d died god knew where off the edge of a roof.  _

Which was the very  _ opposite  _ of okay, though his brain didn’t seem to know the difference, because he couldn’t stop himself from repeating the word as his hands found each other, forming fists and beginning to lightly tap together, though he barely felt it.

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” 

So it wasn’t okay  _ right now _ . That was fine. He just had to find the ring, that was all, which…

Slowly, his gaze trailed across the grass. 

There wasn’t so much as a trace of the silver band. From where he was standing, all he could make out was a sea of dark green that rustled in a faint breeze. The house lights didn’t exactly help, either, if anything, the made it  _ harder _ to tell the shapes of the blades of grass apart, because they were damp— glittering in a way that  _ might’ve _ been the ring, but might’ve just been dew, and… 

“...okay.”

The word was choked. His throat was closing into a knot.

“... _ okay. _ ” 

It wasn’t. 

It  _ definitely _ wasn’t, but standing on the roof sure as shit wasn’t going to help the situation despite the fact that all he could bring himself to do was stare down at the pitiful backyard— more of a back  _ patch _ , really— in complete and utter  _ despair _ , blinking repeatedly as though that would turn back the hands of time and bring the band back to him. 

_ You can’t spot it from up here.  _

_...but you also might not be able to find it down there, and that would almost be worse.  _

His tapping grew a little faster. 

His head bobbed in an exaggerated nod, and with a deep breath, he carefully, carefully took a step forward and off the roof— floating there a moment before allowing his body to drift downward. 

_ You can find it.  _

So what if it was small? So what if it was near pitch dark out? So what if he could feel a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach— feel his skin prickling and his palms turning clammy and the symphony of the word  _ okay _ turning more and more strained— and his breaths turning short? What did it matter? 

_ Why do I even need to breathe? _

Sure, it meant he could  _ talk _ , which was always a plus, but it also meant he could do what he was doing now— which was borderline hyperventilating as he tapped his fists together repeatedly to a point where his skin  _ should’ve _ bruised. 

Though it didn’t, because he was dead. 

_ One of the few upsides.  _

No bruises, no need to eat (not that he always did— sometimes Emma had to bring him a cup of coffee and a stale pastry and that was all he’d manage to choke down in a day), the ability to levitate— one that he was currently using to lower himself onto his front in the air, arms hanging down toward the grass, brushing through the individual blades in search of one of the few objects he thought couldn’t slip through his fingers. 

How?

_ How _ had he lost it?

Obviously he knew  _ how _ he’d lost it— he’d stood up and lost his grip and watched it fall with a pair of little  _ tink tink _ sounds on the roof before it had bounced off into an oblivion known as the backyard, and from there, it could’ve gone in any  _ number _ of directions— it could’ve rolled under the fence, or the loose boards on the side of the house, or it could’ve landed in a loose patch of dirt and gotten itself  _ buried _ and—

_ Focus, Paul.  _

_ Don’t spin out.  _

The yard wasn’t that big. He could probably sweep through the whole thing before Emma and Lex even got back,  _ and _ , hopefully, before Ethan came back out to pester him as to what he was doing. 

_ Just find the ring. _

God, this was  _ twice _ now that something like this had happened. 

First it had been a meteor that had intervened, and maybe that was a sign that it was doomed to fail that the  _ second _ he’d thought about getting down on one knee and popping the question, seeing as he’d  _ literally died _ last time he’d tried, and this time…

Paul dug his teeth into his lip. 

“... _ okay.” _

His voice sounded watery. 

His eyes  _ felt _ watery. 

His hands shook just a little as he swiped his fingers through the grass, waving back and forth in as good of a sweeping motion as he could manage, his body drifting over the greenery.

It was a bright night out. 

The moon shone overhead, the pale beams easily falling through his form entirely to halfway illuminate the grass in a way that almost made it  _ look _ like there was silver glimmering under every shadow, which would’ve been almost enchanting had he not been  _ panicking,  _ because it  _ wasn’t  _ silver at  _ all _ , it was just  _ wet grass.  _

Wet grass that wasn’t at  _ all _ a ring. 

With every movement he made, the speed at which he swung his arms out became a little more frantic— the fact that he could all but  _ feel _ the time passing really not helping his case.. Hatchetfield wasn’t exactly quiet at night often, and this neighborhood certainly wasn’t an exception. Each time a car whizzed by, casting the yard in thin strips of light that filtered through the gaps in the fence between the shoddily nailed together wood planks— ones that Emma had always said would blow away the next time their island was hit with a windstorm.

_ Would the ring have fit under it? _

Shit. 

Pausing, head turned slightly toward the weatherbeaten fence, Paul bit down hard on his lip and begrudgingly forced himself to move toward it, peering under the bottom out at the cracked concrete of the driveway.

_ Would the ring have fallen into one of those? _

That also wasn’t entirely implausible, and knowing his luck, that was where the thing had ended up— wedged deep in the cement, stuck there where he definitely wouldn’t be able to reach it, and—

_ Focus.  _

Paul inhaled. 

His breathing had sped up again, and even as he moved into a more natural position— a  _ standing _ one— his hands automatically found his tie, thumbs running up and down the stitching repeatedly to a point where he wouldn’t have been surprised if the material tore. 

_ Calm down. _

_ You can find it in the morning— _

But the morning would be too  _ late _ , because he’d been going to do it  _ tonight _ — if he didn’t back out. 

Which he  _ had _ done once already, the night of the Starlight— the night that their lives as  _ living _ people had ended and their  _ afterlives _ had started, leaving them in a house that wasn’t theirs with a couple of  _ kids _ to look after that weren’t theirs (even though two of them were  _ teenagers _ ), and honestly, it hadn’t been  _ terrible _ , but it had  _ also _ left him with a back pocket a little heavier than it should’ve been and a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

It was almost like the universe  _ wanted _ him to fail. 

Maybe the marriage was doomed. 

Maybe  _ he _ was just doomed. 

Maybe both of them were doomed together in some weird, existentially romantic way— doomed to find love and drag each other down into a relationship that’d never work, because how could it work if one of them lost the  _ engagement ring? _

_ The ring. _

_ Focus on the ring, Paul. It’s gotta be here somewhere. _

Bending over and squinting down at the grass, pulling his attention away from the fence and the concrete—  _ god what if it rolled onto the fucking street and got hit by that car that drove past— _ Paul pulled his hands away from his tie and crouched, awkwardly fumbling around through grass he couldn’t feel. 

It  _ had _ to be there. 

If it  _ wasn’t _ there, he was  _ beyond _ fucked— so that wasn’t allowed to be a possibility, and when it fell off the roof… had it fallen on an angle?

He glanced upward. 

The roof’s silhouette stood out against the clear night almost as though it had been painted on top of it with a thick brush, though Paul didn’t pay it too much attention. Where had he been standing? He’d sat near the middle until Ethan had joined him, and then he’d stood to follow the demon when he’d leapt off the edge, which had brought him to  _ his _ left which would now be the right side, which would put the ring… 

“Okay.” 

He didn’t have time to second guess. 

His head turned back to the grass once more, and like that, he was back to pawing at the greenery. 

Theoretically, the band should’ve been  _ roughly _ where he was searching, if it had bounced right off the roof without changing directions, or without getting blown by the wind… 

_ It’s not that windy.  _

_ You’re overanalyzing.  _

_ Just find the ring.  _

It sounded so simple in his head. 

It  _ wasn’t  _ simple, but condensed down into those words— just one instruction— it seemed more doable. Less like some herculean feat and more like something he could do before Emma—

“Paul?”

Paul froze. 

_ Shit.  _

_ No… _

Behind him, there wasn’t any noise, and if he just stayed crouching in the grass, he could almost pretend that nobody had called out to him at all, but… 

Emma was the one person he couldn’t ignore. 

He could almost  _ feel  _ her getting closer, and in his mind’s eye, he could see the exact look she was wearing— something of a smirk with a confused edge to it, eyebrows raised in what might’ve been concern. 

“...lose something?”

“NO!”

It came out too fast—  _ too loud _ — and it was coupled with him all but tripping over himself to turn and face her, eyes wide. 

She’d told him once that she liked his eyes because she could read them. 

He couldn’t help but hate them when they met hers, because in that instant, he knew that she knew one thing. That he was lying. 

It was written on her face. That smirk he thought he’d see was there, sure, but it was  _ definitely _ more concerned than he thought it would be— less teasing. More of a smile than a  _ smirk _ , and her eyebrows  _ were _ raised— though not in mocking disbelief. 

Swallowing, he tried to force a smile. “...no,” he repeated, quietly, taking a moment to straighten himself out. There wasn’t any grass clinging to his pants— yet another upside to the whole being dead thing— but he ran his palms over his knees anyway, ignoring the sensation of Emma’s eyes on him.

“...everything okay?” 

Paul nodded. “Fine,” he chirped, “just…”

_ Fuck.  _

What could he say he had been doing? 

Locking eyes with Emma, hands curling into fists at his sides no matter how he tried to keep them still—  _ she’s going to recognize the tapping and then she’s going to ask what’s going on— _ Paul’s mind raced at a mile a minute, trying to settle on an excuse that he just couldn’t seem to  _ find— _

“...in… specting the grass?” He tried, lamely. 

Emma snorted. “...inspecting the grass?” She echoed, at which Paul gave a jerky shrug and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His shoes scuffed the dirt. 

“W-Well, I just… thought somebody oughta,” he explained, trying his best to ignore the way she was looking at him, brows furrowed and head tilted. His hands found the bottom of his suit jacket, giving it a sharp tug before he coughed and tried to keep his voice from pitching upward.

His voice pitched upward. 

“They haven’t mown the lawn since they moved in, a-and—”

“Paul,  _ we _ never mowed the lawn,” she pointed out, “and you  _ hated _ yardwork— now seriously, what did you lose?” 

“Nothing!” He insisted, albeit, weakly. “R-Really, I just… wanted to make sure there weren’t weeds, o-or anthills— remember that one year that Hatchetfield had all those anthills that just popped up everywhere? Apparently Alice’s girlfriend, Deb, she stepped in one while they were out on a picnic and had some sort of reaction, so she had to go to the hospital— but Bill had to drive them, and he wasn’t exactly happy about it, s-so…”

If he still had a beating heart, he  _ swore _ it would’ve started pumping in double time— hell, he could almost feel it  _ now _ , the lack of the dull, muted thumping enough to make his unease turn thicker, filling his lungs with a heaviness that only weighed him down and made it harder to inhale properly. 

It felt almost like his insides were full of sludge. 

It only thickened when Emma’s lips twitched slightly. 

“Ants? Really? That’s what you’re going with?

Paul nodded. The movement looked more like a twitch. “ _ Really _ , Em, I just—”

Emma narrowed her eyes, interrupting him with a heavy sigh. “If you’re gonna lie, you could at  _ least _ do a better job. It’s  _ winter _ , Paul. All the ants are like, sleeping or some shit. Now what were you  _ really _ doing?” 

There were a thousand things he  _ could’ve _ said. 

He could’ve stuck with his story about the grass. 

He could’ve cracked a joke, maybe, some clever line that would leave her rolling her eyes and cuffing him on the shoulder.

He could’ve asked about Lex— or  _ Hannah,  _ hell, even bringing up Ethan might’ve taken some of that weight off of him, but it was then that Paul made the mistake of meeting her eyes. 

Eyes he couldn’t lie to.

Eyes he didn’t  _ want _ to lie to. 

Eyes that were the most beautiful shade of brown with flecks of an amber colour trapped within each iris, alongside the smallest touch of something that made them glow in the sunlight, not that they were glowing now. 

They were just fixed on his, and in them— in the way they were crinkled slightly, raised up from the bottom— there was concern. 

“...well?” She prompted, quietly, stepping a little closer to him. “Gonna tell me why the grass needed insp—”

“I was going to propose to you!” 

It slipped from him before he could stop it, and once it  _ did _ , a swarm of other words followed it. 

“B-But I dropped the ring, it… it  _ fell _ — fell off the roof, a-and when I tried to find it, I just ended up in the grass, a-and I’m starting to think that the universe must hate me, because  _ last time _ I went to ask you t-to marry me, we  _ literally _ died! And y-you never liked the idea of marriage, anyway, s-settling down? With someone? Forever? I… I get it, it’s a lot, b-but I thought we’d be able to make it work somehow.” Turning on his heel, moving to start pacing, Paul began to tap his fists together, unable to keep his mind from racing— mouth barely moving fast enough to get all the words out coherently. His voice threatened to break. “A-And now, I went and lost the ring, which is… why I was in the grass… though I hope there weren’t ants, in hindsight, because—”

“...you were gonna propose to me?” 

Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

Paul’s spine straightened. 

_ Oh.  _

His hands trembled. 

_ This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. At all.  _

He needed to face her— he  _ knew _ he needed to face her— but his feet felt as though they were glued to the ground. 

Everything was too slow. 

Too empty without the sound of his frantic heartbeat, leaving him only with the sensation of his throat tightening and his skin prickling ever so slightly. He knew how it was  _ supposed _ to feel. He was supposed to have blood rushing in his ears, a flutter in his chest, a smile on his face— he was supposed to be  _ kneeling _ in front of her, not standing with his back to her and his fists tapping against each other. 

But he  _ was _ , because he couldn’t seem to do anything right. 

“...Paul?”

Emma’s voice wobbled. 

It sounded fragile. 

Tiny, even. 

So unbelievably small. 

So unlike the Emma he knew. 

His hands trembled slightly as he turned his head. 

“Emma, I…” 

His words stopped short when their eyes met, turning to a quiet exhale, then a halfway whimper, then nothing at all.

He couldn’t find them. 

Not when she was looking at him like  _ that _ . 

Looking at him like the way she’d looked at him when he’d first said _ I love you _ in a tender, quiet moment the two had shared and she’d frozen up, stood stock still in his embrace for long enough for him to think he’d fucked up somehow, though before he’d been able to apologize, she’d squeezed his hands and looked at him with tears beading up in her eyes. 

_ “How can you say a thing like that and mean it?” _

_ “Emma…” _

The words floated through his memory as their eyes locked, and for a moment, he could almost pretend that that was where they were, in the small apartment Emma had called her own when they’d first started, his back to the door, her hands on his. 

She looked exactly the same as she did then, lower lip wobbling, eyes damp, hands raised just slightly as though looking for his own. 

“...you were gonna propose?” She croaked, quietly, head dipped ever so slightly toward her chest and eyebrows pinched together— not confusedly, no, in a way that made it look as though she was about to burst into tears. 

Paul took a step toward her, and after a moment spent blinking repeatedly against a haze creeping across his vision and a sting in his eyes, he swallowed hard and nodded. 

“I… I was gonna propose,” he echoed, “at the Starlight. A-After the play, I… I had this whole speech, a-and I even went and found a spot out on the pier, s-so there’d be a good sunset, and…” 

_ Can ghosts cry? _

He felt like he was going to. His lips quivered, wobbling as he gave a shaky inhale and automatically brought one hand up to his face, swiping his fingers against the cold skin just under his eye in an attempt to wipe away a tear that wasn’t there. 

Emma did the same. “ _ God _ , that’s just like you, y’know that?” She choked out, her voice decidedly scratchier than normal. “Did you go the whole nine yards and hire a—” Pausing, thrusting one hand into the air as though she’d find the words she was looking for there, Emma gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “—a photographer, too? Maybe a band? The fuckin’  _ pope himself?”  _

“Couldn’t afford it,” Paul responded automatically, shoulders bobbing in a weak shrug. “And Francis and I never really got along, anyway, so that was off the table, but…” 

Again, he stepped closer. 

This time, Emma mirrored the action. 

The distance between them was slowly closing. 

“...y’know, now would be the part where you exaggerate the ring.” 

“Why?”

“I dunno, doesn’t seem like something you’d do, but…” It was her turn to give a shrug. Again, one of her hands flitted up to her face, brushing at her eyes despite the fact that no tears were falling. She even sniffled, albeit, quietly, before taking her other hand and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “...so… go for it.” 

“It’s just a plain band,” he started, “a-and it’s somewhere in the grass, so it won’t be easy to… to  _ find _ , but… it’s silver.”

“Silver”

“You like it?”

A laugh bubbled up from her— a soft giggle that made Paul’s lips twitch upward ever so slightly. “So far,” she returned, “plain silver band… it’s… nice.”

“I thought so,” he agreed. “Didn’t think you’d want anything too… much, y’know?” 

“Saying I’m a slob?”

_ Shit. _

“I—  _ no, _ I’m just—”

It took him a moment to realize she was laughing again.

“ _ Paul _ , I’m fucking with you— I don’t like those big fancy rings, promise.”

“Are you sure? Because I can—”

She cut him off by stepping closer still. There was less than an inch of space between them, now, and it only seemed to be getting smaller. “Paul, you’re a  _ ghost _ ,” she pointed out, quietly, “what’re you gonna do,  _ steal? _ Relax. Those big ones look like they’ll snag on like,  _ everything _ , or fall off if you move your wrist too much, y’know?” 

Paul nodded in response. 

_ Okay.  _ So he  _ was _ right to assume she didn’t like chunky jewlery— fuck yeah. Not that it mattered, because the ring was  _ gone _ — rolled off into the sun for all he knew, but it was the thought that counted, right?

One of her hands moved at her side in a quick, jerky motion— up and down once— before she gave a low sigh and let it settle on Paul’s shoulder. 

The light expression she wore began to slip, changing to something a little more serious,  _ vulnerable _ , even, in a way that made him wonder if she’d been hurt before. She’d always had doe eyes— brilliant and beautiful and full of every warm colour, true, but eyes belonging to a creature that was clearly ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger— and now was no different. 

There was still that flicker of uncertainty shining in each one. Still that underlying doubt. 

“...you were really gonna marry me?” She asked, softly. 

“I mean…” His throat was tightening. There  _ should’ve _ been tears, judging by the way his vision was swimming and his emotions were welling up through his chest, threatening to rise out of him, but… there wasn’t a dampness on his face. “..if you said  _ y-yes _ , then—”

“You thought I’d say  _ no?” _

“W-Well, I didn’t wanna assume a-anything— you  _ might’ve _ —”

Her hands found his lapels. 

“Paul Matthews,” she started, voice shaking—  _ hands _ shaking to a point where he could feel it, “if you think I would’ve said  _ no _ if you got on one fucking knee out on the pier a-at  _ sunset _ , w-with a simple silver ring because you decided to be the classiest man on the goddamn planet, I…” 

Her voice broke. 

Her lip wobbled.

_ Should _ , Hannah’s voice rang in his ears. 

Automatically, he wiped her face, and even though his fingers came away dry, she leaned into his touch almost desperately. 

“...I’m gonna have to tell you that you’re wrong, ‘cause guess what?”

Paul leaned closer to her. “What?” 

Emma stood on her toes, her face close enough to his own that he could feel her breath when she spoke. “Paul Matthews, I would marry you if you proposed to me with a ring pop in a Denny’s parking lot at like, three am, okay? I… y-you’re the…” 

Instinctively, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her flush against his chest in an attempt to offer her comfort, though when she spoke again—

“...you’re the only person I’ve ever said I love you to and meant it.”

—he froze. 

Her eyes looked watery. 

Looked like they  _ should’ve _ been watery, to match the creases in her brow and the quiver in her lip— the quiver in her  _ words _ . 

“So don’t you  _ ever _ think that I’d say no if you asked—”

“Will you marry me?” He interrupted. 

Emma stopped short. 

Her body tensed in his arms.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she looked so,  _ so _ small, ready to burst into tears at any given moment where she stood, hands still clutching his lapels. Her grip grew tighter.

Slowly, her head tilted to the left. 

Her teeth raked across her lower lip. 

“...I think I already gave you an answer,” she breathed. 

Paul’s chest tightened. 

“...yes?” 

He could barely believe he was saying it. 

He almost felt like he was going to be sick, the nerves swirling in his stomach clawing at his insides— though they stopped when Emma looked up at him, eyes shining in the dark, and nodded. 

“Yeah,” she echoed, “yeah—  _ yes _ , Paul, I— I’ll marry you.” 

His expression threatened to crumple, though he managed to hold firm for long enough to choke out a disbelieving, wet, “ _ Really?” _

A really that Emma laughed at before taking hold of his tie and tugging him down to her level. 

“ _ Yes _ , really.” 

Her free hand came to cup the side of his face, and when she smiled, he did the same, unable to keep the most stupid, dorky grin of sheer joy— sheer  _ love _ — off his face. 

“ _ Now _ ,” she murmured, “get down here and kiss me before I start crying.”

He didn’t bother telling her ghosts didn’t seem to be able to cry.

Instead, he pressed his lips to hers, wrapped his arms around her waist, and smiled against her lips as they began to lift up from the ground— higher, higher, higher to a point where the world below them was so small, though it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that he’d asked. 

All that mattered was that she’d answered— answered with  _ yes _ .

What a beautiful word, that was,  _ yes. _

_ Yes. _

There weren’t many words that would make him cry, but if he were still alive, he couldn’t help but think that that would’ve been one of them, though when he pulled away momentarily— high above the ground their physical bodies lay beneath, only floating further from them— he looked down at Emma, cupped her face in his hands, and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I love you, Emma Matthews.” 

He knew it was the right thing to say the second the words left his mouth and her expression turned almost shy, her eyes locking with his long enough for him to know that they would’ve been full of tears had they been alive. 

She didn’t answer with words, but from the way her arms drew him close and her lips pressed longingly,  _ desperately _ against his own, he knew what she wanted to say.

It was an  _ I love you _ , and as he returned the kiss… in his mind, he said it back. 

Just like he always had. 

Just like he always would. 

* * *

The fact that Hannah was cozied up right next to him was something that had caught Lex completely off guard. 

She’d been staring at the two of them— Hannah with her face buried in his shoulder and Ethan with his wings wrapped gently around her sides— since she’d stepped into the room, and as she stood there, slack-jawed and unable to quite process the fact that this was the same demon that had  _ threatened _ the girl he was now wrapped around like a fucking blanket, her fingers twitched lightly at her sides. 

_ What changed? _

_ Something _ had to have changed between the two of them. 

Hannah had been  _ adamant _ that he was bad news from the second he’d shown up on their kitchen table, but now, her little sister looked nothing short of  _ comfortable _ in his clutches. 

“...guess Paul wasn’t looking after you, huh?” She murmured, quietly, unable to keep her lips from twitching upward almost  _ fondly _ at the sight. 

Her eyes didn’t stay on Hannah for long. 

After all, she’d seen Hannah asleep before, but Ethan? 

She’d only caught him napping a few times, sprawled out on the couch with one arm hanging down toward the floor with his claws scraping against the wood there, and even then, he always looked out of place and almost like he’d been added in during post-production, this was different. 

He looked more real. 

_ God, I’m being a fucking creep. _

Was she? 

_ Kind _ of. Fuck, that wasn’t what she wanted, but in her defence, she hadn’t known he’d be there— in  _ her _ room, with  _ her  _ little sister that she was damn near certian he’d been trying to  _ kill _ . 

It was just  _ weird _ . 

He looked  _ peaceful. _

He was too big for Hannah’s bed, all but hanging off the edge of it, tail wound around one of Hannah’s legs, chest steadily rising and falling in time with hers, quiet, gentle rumbles escaping his throat in a soft buzz that filled the air— white noise, really. 

White noise that Hannah seemed to have taken to like a charm, judging by the way the girl was cuddled up against him, and it didn’t seem like it was a noise that he was making to be  _ threatening _ , which… 

Lex’s brow furrowed. 

_...means he doesn’t hate where he is.  _

_ Which is even fucking weirder. _

God, she couldn’t even  _ change _ with him there, could she? 

Sure, he was sleeping  _ now _ , and normally, if it was just Hannah passed out on the other side of the tiny room, she’d at the  _ very _ least slip off her bra and  _ maybe _ change into sweats, but the fact that there was an entire  _ demon _ conked out across from her… no thanks. 

_ Fuck _ that. 

The shirt she was in under her sweater was loose anyway, and her pants were  _ basically _ sweats with how fucking baggy they were. After all, she wasn’t in her work uniform, she’d just been out at the grocery store with Emma, it wasn’t like she was wearing her Sunday best. 

It wasn’t even like she  _ had _ anything she’d classify as her  _ Sunday best _ .

Seriously. Who the fuck even  _ had _ Sunday best, anyway? 

_...Paul, probably. _

The thought made her smile. If she was a little less tired, she might’ve gone looking for him, but she had to be up early tomorrow…

It definitely wasn’t worth it. It was  _ already _ late, thanks to her and Emma spending more time standing outside talking rather than walking back to the trailer park, Lex with her phone pressed up against her ear so she could talk to the person with her without looking crazy and a few bags full of what Emma had instructed her to buy slung over her arms— bags that were now neatly packed up in the cupboards and the fridge, respectively, actual  _ food items _ that weren’t cooked in a microwave— shit that had to be prepped and planned. 

Which was damn near unheard of in the Foster house. 

Pulling her hair out of the loose ponytail she’d tied it up in and letting the elastic slip over her wrist, Lex stole one more quiet glance at the sleeping shapes of her sister and the demon who… really didn’t look all that demonic when he was sleeping, with his hair mussed up and his lips curled upward in a soft smile… 

_Now_ _this is getting creepy._

_ Just go the fuck to bed.  _

Her cheeks darkened. Tensing, spinning on a heel to face her own bed with her heart rate picking up momentarily. 

_ Jesus _ , she needed to sleep more than she thought, what, if she was getting all sappy looking at a passed out Ethan Green like some sort of stalker. 

_ Just go to bed, Lex.  _

Deb wanted to meet earlier than usual the next morning, and as much as she wanted to just say no, she couldn’t really go against the wishes of her best customer, which left her with only one option. Shrugging off her hoodie, leaving herself in just too-big pants and a striped shirt, she dropped the sweater unceremoniously on the floor and flopped down on her bed, letting her arms splay up above her head with a low groan. 

“...tired?”

Her head whipped to the side. 

In the darkness of the room, Ethan’s eyes glowed like those of a cat, catching the dim light filtering in through her curtains. 

“...what’s it look like, Green?”

For a second, his eyes disappeared, and when the light reappeared on the far side of the room, it was in a pair of small slit, half-moon shapes. 

“...tired.” He murmured after a small pause, voice coming out in a throaty, rasping growl. “You look fuckin’ exhausted.” 

“Well,  _ yeah _ ,” Lex huffed softly. Her heart was still beating a touch too fast as she drew her blankets over herself, and try as she might to keep the feeling at bay— whatever the  _ fuck _ said feeilng was— it made her hands twitch on the edge of her tattered comforter. “There you go.” 

Ethan hummed under his breath. “Makes two of you, then, huh?” 

In the dark, Lex blinked at the sound of his wings shuffling, her spine tingling involuntarily. “...she’s out, huh?”

“Like a fuckin’ light,” Ethan affirmed. 

If Lex didn’t know any better, she could’ve  _ sworn _ his voice broke into a purr— something almost  _ fond _ , gentle, even.

It was almost cute. 

_ Wait. _

_ No. _

_ No it wasn’t. _

If her face wasn’t burning before, it sure as shit was now—  _ does he have night vison? _ Fuck. He had those weird eyes like a cat with the stupid tiny pupils, and they did that reflect-y thing—  _ shit _ . 

Trying to be discreet, Lex drew the sheet up a little further until the fabric brushed against her nose, covering most of her now  _ definitely _ pink face from Ethan’s view. Hopefully. 

“...well, thanks for… I dunno, putting her to bed, I guess.” Slowly closing her eyes, exhaling through her nose, she turned her head back to where it had been— nose pointed up at the ceiling. “One less thing for me to worry about.”

Ethan’s breath stalled. 

“You ain’t…” he started, slowly, voice turning to a hushed, almost somber whisper, “worried about leaving her alone with me?”

One of Lex’s eyes slid open a crack. “Well, you’re not  _ allowed  _ to hurt her, so…” 

“So you’re trustin’ me on a tech…” Again he paused, though this time, he broke his own silence with a heavy sigh and a low growl in the back of his throat. “...nickley?”

Lex raised an eyebrow. “Technicality?” She tried, at which he exhaled a laugh. Out of her peripheral vision, she watched one of his hands raise to wave her off. 

“Yeah, that’s the bitch,” he confirmed,  _ “technicality. _ Whatever. The only reason you’re leavin’ me with her is ‘cause I can’t touch her, right?”

_...wait. _

Lex’s brows drew together. 

Turning her head to face him once more, she rolled onto her side and bit her lip confusedly.

Ethan was in a similar position. One of his arms was propping up his head on an angle, the rest of his body slanted to accommodate the girl that was  _ very _ much touching him. 

“Wait, if you can’t touch her… what the hell are you doing  _ now _ , then? Didn’t you say it—”

“Fuckin’ burned me last time?” He finished for her. “ _ Yeah,  _ hurt like a bitch, but… this time?” His wing twitched where it rested over Hannah’s back. “Nothin’.” 

“Weird.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he agreed, “been tryin’ t’figure out why I ain’t burnin’ up right now for the past… god, however long it’s been.” As he spoke, he slowly began to adjust how he was lying with the girl, pulling his wing a little further over her to a point where the only traces of her being there were a loose braid poking out from under the membrane and an arm halfway slung around his middle. 

“...well, she looks comfortable,” she started, slowly, unable to keep herself from smiling slightly as Hannah’s hand tightened its grip on Ethan’s side, “so… maybe she decided  _ not _ to set you on fire?” 

Ethan snorted. “See, I don’t like the idea that she  _ decided _ to last time,” he huffed in return, though he didn’t sound irritated in the slightest. There was a laugh just under his words, hidden there in his growl— one that made Lex shoot him a smug look. 

“I honestly wouldn’t blame her.” Settling back down, keeping the comforter up over her face thanks to the fact that that warmth was _ still _ there on her cheeks, Lex rolled back onto her back and let her eyes slip closed. “If I could set you on fire at will, I  _ probably _ would.” 

Ethan gave a choking noise in response. “You’d  _ what?”  _ He sputtered, only for Lex to shush him. 

“Hey, keep quiet, Hannah’s sleeping,” she scolded, unable to keep her voice from quivering with withheld laughter. “If you wake her up, she’ll  _ definitely _ set you on fire.”

“Y’know what?”

“What?” 

“That’s fair.”

The two lapsed into silence.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t uncomfortable— almost like how a sleepover or a campout would’ve been if Lex had to make a guess. She’d never  _ been _ to either of those events, but… sitting in a peaceful sort of silence while trying to get to sleep with another person in the room was  _ sort of  _ the same, right?

_ God, I sound so lonely.  _

Before she could fall deeper down the hole of having a fucked up childhood— a hole she fell down rather consistently when she needed to sleep but couldn’t get her brain to shut the hell up— the sound of Ethan taking a shuddering breath in from across the room caught her attention. 

“Y’know, I  _ do _ have two wings,” Ethan drawled, slowly, “and Hannah’s only usin’ one of ‘em, so… if you  _ wanted _ … y’know, since ya said it looked comfortable…” 

Her heart rate picked up. 

_ Is he really… _

Pulling the comforter down a little from where it rested over her face, Lex squinted over at him where he’d shifted where he was laying, Hannah still snuggled up on his left side and his free wing outstretched, almost beckoning her forward with a lazy twitch. 

A small part of her almost sat up.

A small part of her almost wanted to say  _ yes _ , which was fucking ridiculous. 

A small part of her heart fluttered like a caged bird when she turned his way and met his eyes to see that his pupils had rounded into wide, dark circles. His tail flicked back and forth. 

_...does he want me to say yes? _

No. 

That’d be weird. 

Forcing a laugh, one that sounded a little too harsh to be genuine, Lex rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

“Yeah,  _ no _ ,” she huffed, closing her eyes and snuggling up into her bedsheets, “nice try though, Green.” 

“Hey, uh,  _ speaking _ of nice tries… uh… about tomorrow? With Hannah?”

Her brow furrowed. “...what about it?” 

Silence fell again. 

Silence broken by Ethan giving another soft sigh and shifting his wings once more, wrapping them further around Hannah’s sleeping form. 

“...s’it a yes or a no on walkin’ the kid t’school?” 

And there it was.

Another offer she was probably supposed to decline. 

It would’ve made sense, after all. He was an entire demon and Hannah was a thirteen-year-old  _ child _ . A smart one, sure, and a resourceful one at that, but a child nonetheless… if he tried to hurt her, she wouldn’t stand a chance…

Somehow, she didn’t think he would. 

Maybe it was a false sense of security brought on by the fact that she was fucking exhausted, but… 

“Tell you what.” Rolling onto her side, meeting his eyes once more and offering a sleepy, almost soft smile, Lex jutted her chin out towards Hannah. “If she’s still alive in the morning and you haven’t… I dunno…” Shrugging, she nestled a little further into her blankets. “...strangled her or anything like that, then… yeah, Eth. You can walk her to school.”

In the darkness, just before her eyes slipped closed, Lex could’ve sworn she saw him smile. 

“...night, Lex,” he murmured. 

Lex huffed out a laugh in response. “Yeah, yeah. G’night to you, too,” she grumbled, and although she was  _ trying _ to sound annoyed… trying to sound as though she didn’t care all that much…

Under the comforter, her face stayed pink.


	27. a solid plan b option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy howdy! Been a long while since I've worked on this fic and I wanted to offer my apologies. Seriously. I love this stupid little story with my entire heart, but real life has had me on a rollercoaster of strange circumstances. In a weird twist of events, I'm now an award winning playwright. (Seriously.)
> 
> However, I'm hoping to have this story completed in the next few months!! I'm going to attempt getting back into the swing of Sunday updates, but I make no promises. Thank you to all who have stuck around this long, seriously. You mean the world to me <3

Hannah Foster was used to waking up alone.

She was used to the solitude that came along with being the only one in the house on a long day. In a way, she almost found it peaceful. There was nobody to bug her, nobody to ask intrusive questions, nobody to poke and prod— just her, Webby, and a long afternoon to spend working quietly on her schoolwork at the table and drawing when she needed a break, and if the weather was especially good, she’d sit out on the back porch in the sun, back to the fence, and lose herself in the noise of passing cars and the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. 

Being alone wasn’t all that bad. She never  _ really  _ was alone, what, with Webby in her head, even if the spider wasn’t always that talkative. 

Being alone meant just that— she was alone, free to do her own thing, go at her own pace, and blearily stumble through her day without much care as to how fast she was going, so long as her tasks ended up being completed. 

It was always nice, those days where she didn’t have to go to school, days she could just lay around and sometimes, if she was  _ really _ feeling okay, she’d pull her ukulele out from where it rested under her bed and pluck out a tune. 

On days like those, she was just Hannah. 

Not a pest, not a bother, not any of the other words some of the other kids— usually River Monroe- would use on her, just Hannah.

Hannah.

_ Hannah. _

“Hannah?” A voice broke through her thoughts— one that rumbled quietly around her, though despite how gentle it was, she still groaned and splayed out further on… whatever it was she was on top of. It didn’t feel like a mattress, but in her sleepy state, she recognized it as one thing:  _ warm _ . That was all that mattered. Almost instinctively, Hannah nuzzled further against it and let out a soft, tired sigh. 

The surface under her moved. Something prodded at her arm— something  _ sharp _ — though before she could properly process that fact, the voice returned. 

“...Hannah, c’mon—”

She cut it—  _ him _ — off with a groan. The arm she’d slung over… whatever it was she was holding curled tighter around its side, her forearm pressing against what felt like… a zipper?

**_Jacket_ ** _ , _ Webby murmured, quiet as she always was in the mornings— quiet and gentle enough for Hannah to realize—

_ Oh. _

Only one person she’d ever met slept in a jacket, which meant that the oddly warm pillow she was pressed against was… 

And the blanket over her back was…

As if confirming the thought, the blanket— one of Ethan’s wings— twitched on her back. 

“...that’s real sweet, kiddo,” he murmured, softly, “but ya gotta get up… school today, remember?” 

Hannah’s eyes flicked blearily open. 

Her brows drew together. 

Slowly, she pulled her face away from his side and rolled just a little off of him, moving so her back was pressed to the folds of his wing just beside him. 

“...have to?” She asked, at which Ethan snorted. 

“‘Fraid so,” he replied, sighing as he did, “ _ but… _ if it makes ya feel better—”

Instantly, Hannah perked up. 

Sitting bolt upright, still tired— her eyelids still halfway closed, eyes barely adjusted to the light— she locked eyes with Ethan, unable to keep a look of anticipation off her face as one of her hands rose to tug on a braid. “Coming?” She interrupted, leaning close to his face— close enough that her loose bangs brushed against his forehead. “With me?” 

“I— what?” 

His lips twitched ever so slightly. His nose wrinkled. His eyebrows drew together, and after a moment spent holding her gaze, he smirked and tilted his head, pupils expanding just a touch in a way that made Hannah’s heart lift.

She recognized that look. 

_ Honest circles.  _

“Coming?” She repeated, shuffling back a little— just enough to allow him to pull his wing out from under her and sit at the edge of her bed, though she was quick to bounce right back to sit at his side. 

The tail that had been curled neatly on the bed beside her slid onto the floor, the soft thud of it hitting the ground masked by a soft huff from him. “Weren’t you tired just a second ago?” He asked, a teasing tone of voice clearly lacing his words. “‘Cause if I remember right, you were just sleepin’—”

“ _ Ethan _ ,” she interrupted, voice turning to something bordering on a whine, “ _ not an answer! _ ” 

“ _ Well _ ,” he growled in return— not a proper growl as far as Hannah could tell, not one that was supposed to be threatening— as he gave a stretch, flaring his wings out to a point where they brushed against the wall behind him, “sounds like you already  _ picked _ an answer you wanna hear, Banana, jus’ from how you’re talkin’ about it.” 

Hannah’s legs swung in place. 

Her heels tapped the side of the mattress, lightly thumping the blanket that hung over the edge of it, discarded and limp, and as she watched, one of Ethan’s legs began to bounce ever so slightly in place, his tail flicking as it did almost every time he was thinking. 

It was one of the little things about him she’d noticed. 

There were lots of little things to notice about him, and having a couple of extra features— wings and a long, whiplike tail to be exact— only gave her more cues to pick up on. Little ones, usually, like the tail whipping back and forth and the wing twitching and the eyes that changed with every word he said— eyes that were currently fixed on her own with a borderline smug expression, half-lidded and sparkling. 

She couldn’t hold his gaze for long.

Her eyes dropped to the floor. 

“...want you to come,” she admitted, softly. “Webby said you would, someday.” 

Ethan laughed. Not a mocking one— not one of those sarcastic ones he tossed around whenever he was with Lex, either, no, a genuine thing that seemed to come from his very core. 

_ How did I ever think he was scary? _

Right now, it was easy enough to forget he was a literal  _ demon _ . 

He just looked like a teenager— a teenager who was currently smirking, sitting beside her, and a teenager she felt genuinely  _ comfortable _ next to, which was… new. Save for Lex, she didn’t exactly  _ know _ many people at all— not just teenagers— but Ethan was one of the few she could put on her list of people she knew and  _ liked _ . 

_ Not scary. _

Maybe he  _ had _ been, before she’d known him. 

**_Couldn’t trust him, then._ **

Webby explained for her. 

**_Trust him now._ **

She didn’t need to be told twice. 

Armed with the knowledge that he hadn’t hurt her in the night,  _ and _ the knowledge that Lex must’ve seen the pair of them asleep on the bed together without intervening, she couldn’t help but smile along with the sound, though her fingers still fidgeted, tugging loosely at her braids. 

“...today?” 

His smile widened. 

She didn’t flinch at his fangs. 

“...would’ja like that?” He asked, earning a rigorous nod from Hannah. 

“Yes.  _ Would _ like it,” she agreed, taking a second to stand— slipping off the bed in bare feet to stand across from Ethan. They were at eye level like that, allowing her to stare into his eyes with her brows furrowed, an expectant look falling across her face. 

Ethan mirrored it. His head lowered a touch. 

“ _ Well _ ,” he started, leaning back slightly with his lips twitching and his claws tapping his kneecaps, “today’s your lucky day, then, kiddo.” 

Hannah’s eyes lit up. Her hands dropped from her braids— moving to flap just a little at her sides, though when she spoke up, the movement grew a little faster. “Today?”

Once again, Ethan mirrored her expression. His pupils almost seemed to grow bigger as he leaned close, grinning from ear to ear. “Hell yeah, today!” He enthused, “but you gotta go an’ get’cher stuff together. I didn’t set no alarm, so I hope you’re on time—”

**_On time._ **

“Webby says we’re okay,” she cut him off, “not late. Enough time. Coming?” 

“Sure am!” 

Her flapping grew faster— smile turning to a proper grin that cracked to let out a laugh of excitement. It  _ was _ today— and if  _ that _ was happening today, and Webby said she could trust him  _ today _ … 

**_Good day._ **

Slowly, she reigned in her motions, shifting her hands to pull at her braids as he stared at her with what she could almost call  _ fondness _ . 

“That a good thing?” He asked, gesturing with his chin to her hands, at which Hannah giggled softly, nodding. 

“...good day,” she informed him, voice turning just a tad quieter than it had been before. “Webby says.” 

Ethan sat up a little straighter. His eyes crinkled at the corners, lifting ever so slightly with his crooked smile. “Well, who am I to disagree with the space spider?”

“Can’t disagree.” Hannah chirped in response as she turned on a heel, spinning around to face the door that led to the hall, unable to keep her own grin from broadening when she heard the soft noises of Ethan following after her— the telltale noise of his footsteps coupled with his tail skittering back and forth. “Webby’s  _ always _ right.” She added after a small pause.

Ethan hummed under his breath. “I’m sure she is.”

In the back of her mind, a couple of soft bells rang— Webby. 

A  _ laugh _ from Webby.

**_I try._ **

_ You do good. _

Another bell sounded— this one deeper. Brassier— in time with the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. 

**_Thank you, Hannah._ **

Hannah perked up. Webby’s laughter was always a nice sound— not something human, and certainly not a noise that would come from a spider as far as she knew, it was just something that was  _ Webby’s _ . 

It always made her feel warm, and now was no different, the bells filling her head with a pleasant emptiness that accompanied her down the hall alongside the demon she knew was just behind her. 

“Hannah—”

Hannah stopped mid-step.

Slowly, she turned her head in Ethan’s direction, tilting it slightly. 

_...what’s he want? _

It looked as though he was biting back a laugh. His lips twitched, fangs protruding from between them like twin knives. When he inhaled, it shuddered a little, and as he moved to the side of the narrow hall, leaning against the wall, his tail whapped against the doorframe. 

“Ain’t you gonna change outta your pyjamas?” 

_ Oh. _

_ Right. _

She still had to  _ go _ to school. Which required going through her morning routine, regardless of who she was going there  _ with _ , and regardless of who was missing from said routine. 

_ Lex? _

**_Had another job. Out early._ **

_ Oh. _

Ducking her head to hide the embarrassed flush that had risen to her cheeks, Hannah fiddled loosely with her braid, though not before shooting Ethan a cautionary glance and raising one finger to point at him— a warning. 

“Don’t leave without me.” 

This time, it didn’t look like he made an effort to choke back his laughter. The noise escaped him in a sharp burst,  _ very _ different from Webby’s bells— raspier and  _ deeper _ — though he was quick to nod, pressing closer against the wall to let her past. “Hey, ‘course not,” he promised. “Cross my heart, hope to die.” 

In spite of her own embarrassment, Hannah managed a smile in response to that. 

“...’kay,” she murmured before brushing past him.

_ I can trust him. _

She  _ did _ trust him. 

And she was right to do so, because when she trudged out of her and Lex’s shared bedroom in her favorite pair of overalls and a too-big flannel— her lucky yellow one— and moved to brush her teeth, going through the motions of waking properly, washing her face, brushing out her hair… 

He was still there. 

Not in the same spot, of course, but he hadn’t left without her— he was just sprawled out on the couch across from Paul rather than propped up in the hallway, and from the look of it, deep in a conversation. 

**_Listen._ **

_ Listen? _

She stayed quiet.

Instead of striding into the living room where they were speaking, Hannah instead slunk into the kitchen, now sock-clad feet completely silent on the hardwood. It was a technique she’d learned— a habit, really, one that she knew deep down she’d never be able to shake, though… for the sake of eavesdropping, maybe it was a good one. 

Silently, she opened one of the uppermost cabinets in the kitchen and made a grab for the bread bag— half spent, and twisted, not done up with one of the tags that came with them. They always managed to lose them, which made it a bit of a challenge to undo it silently, but she managed well enough, ears pricked up— tuned into the conversation in the other room. 

“She went with Lex,” Paul was saying, his voice casual, “a-and she said they wouldn’t be back until the end of Lex’s shift, so—”

“I thought she had today off, though.” 

_...sad? _

There was definitely a tone of disappointment in his voice. It lacked the usual bounce it held, the usual upbeat lilt just a little less… upbeat. 

She could practically  _ hear _ Paul shrug as she grabbed a pair of slices from the middle of what was left. 

“Apparently not,” the ghost responded, “so I guess she’ll be back… when she’s back? Emma didn’t really give me a time or anything—”

“D’ya think I should just meet her there?”

“At the mall?” 

“No, Paul.” Ethan’s voice came out in a thick  _ growl _ — one that made the hair on the back of Hannah’s neck rise involuntarily, her shoulders stiffening.

**_He’s joking._ **

_ Oh. _

“In  _ Clivesdale, _ ” he finished, just enough of an upward, mocking tone that it made some of her unease fade. 

Paul didn’t seem to catch it. 

“...I don’t think they’re in Clivesdale, th-they  _ were _ walking—”

“Oh my  _ god _ , dude, I’m fucking with you.” The couch creaked. A leathery sound cut through the air— Ethan’s wings unfurling. “ _ Yes _ , the mall, ya goof— where else would they be?”

**_Not there,_ ** Webby corrected, and without thinking—

“Not there,” Hannah echoed, freezing up the second she did. 

_ Shoot. _

It wasn’t as though she’d been  _ trying _ to avoid them or anything, really, but Webby  _ had  _ told her to listen…

A reassuring presence washed over the back of her mind. 

**_Heard what you needed to,_** Webby assured her. 

Hannah’s spine straightened a touch. Her head lifted. 

_...needed? _ She echoed, reaching out toward the spider’s presence as well as she could manage. 

_ What’s that mean?  _

What was she  _ supposed _ to hear?

Nothing all that important had been said, it had just been a normal, mundane conversation as far as she’d been able to tell. Just… talking about Lex and Emma. Normal things.  _ Mundane _ things, even. 

**_Important. Normal is important._ **

Hannah’s brow furrowed. Stepping away from the counter and retrieving the peanut butter from where it was stashed in one of the drawers— the jar mostly spent— she dipped a 

_...how? Just... normal. _

**_Exactly._ **

She didn’t get a chance to question it. 

“Hannah?” 

_ Ethan. _

Her head lifted. 

Sure enough, there he stood, poking his head just through the archway between the living room and the kitchen with a look of something she could almost call  _ fondness _ written across his face— his eyebrows lifted and his lips curled upward at the corners. 

“Heya, split,” he greeted when their eyes met, taking it as permission to step forward— ducking slightly to keep his horns from clipping on the doorframe. “Didn’t hear ya, there. Creepin’ around?” 

Hannah gave a soft hum of affirmation. “Habit,” she responded quietly.

Minutely, he flinched. 

She didn’t focus on it. Instead, she carefully dipped a butterknife into the jar before smearing some peanut butter over one of the bread slices. She could feel Ethan’s eyes on her, though she chose to ignore them, instead focusing on her task. 

**_You’re not going to be late, Hannah._ **

Slowly, she let her gaze flick over to Ethan. 

He perked up when she did. 

His body was leaned up against the counter just beside her, and even as she carefully set the knife in the sink, his eyes tracked her movements with what would be an eerie sort of clarity were it anyone else. “...so,” he started, the soft sound of his tail beginning to flick back and forth a familiar one— a familiar constant, “grab yourself some breakfast, an’ we’ll head out, yeah?” 

_ We. _

It was odd, how such a normal word could make Hannah’s mood lift. 

_ We. _

Both of them. Together.  _ They _ were heading out. 

A warm feeling settled in Hannah’s chest, and it only grew when Paul poked his head in through the wall of the kitchen. 

“Morning, Hannah,” he greeted, though before Hannah could properly muster a response, Ethan gave a low huff. 

“How come  _ she _ gets a welcome wagon an’  _ I  _ get a pop quiz?” 

“I— what?” 

_ Quiz? _

**_Questions._ **

_ Oh.  _

That made more sense. Ducking around Ethan to get to the fridge, Hannah carefully popped the door open and began to rummage around in search of jam— the raspberry kind that she’d asked Lex to pick up when she went out with Emma—

**_Bottom drawer._ **

—her gaze flicked to the bottom drawer on the inside of the door. 

Sure enough, there it was. 

_ Thanks, Webby. _

Those pleased bells rang in the back of her mind once more. 

A smile slipped onto her face as she stepped back, jar in her hands, toward the half-made sandwich, though when Webby’s pleased noises faded—

“I was just wondering where you rushed off to last night, that’s—”

“Just wanted to head inside.” 

“...okay. Right.”

“...you think I’m lyin’?” 

“W-Well… kind of, yeah?” 

—she tuned into the conversation happening around her. It was easy enough to keep her head down and just let the thing play out as she popped the lid off the jar of jam and fished a knife from one of the drawers. 

The sound of the squeaky thing sliding shut seemed so small compared to that of Ethan’s tail picking up speed on the ground. 

“ _ Wow _ , thanks, Paul. Great way to start my morning—”

“You’ve been awake for almost a half hour—”

“ _ Yeah _ , sorry, you’re right, I got  _ started  _ with a—” voice pitching up and into a nasally, mocking tone, Ethan straightened out beside her, causing her to duck to avoid his wings as they flared out, “‘morning, Ethan! Where the fuck were you last night?’” 

Hannah bit her lip to keep from laughing at the look that flashed across Paul’s face. 

“I— I didn’t say—”

“You  _ basically _ did.” 

“Y-You’re twisting my words!” 

“Yeah, well, that’s  _ sorta _ what I do,  _ Paulsy—  _ an’ that’s  _ beside _ the point. You were out there a real long time, too, an’ I didn’t give ya shit about where  _ you _ were.”

Hannah stood a little straighter. Still moving quietly, stepping over Ethan’s tail, Hannah finished up making her sandwich and plopped down at the kitchen table, taking a bite before looking up in time to see Paul flinch. 

“...something tells me you’re going to, now.”

Ethan gave a laugh. In a smooth motion, the demon hopped up onto the counter, tail following him in an easy sweeping motion. “Uh, fuck yeah I am, what were you  _ doin’?  _ Or should I say…  _ who _ were you—”

“With?” Paul cut in, his voice about an octave too high. 

Ethan snorted. 

“ _ Sure _ , Paul. Whatever helps you sleep at night— or do whatever th’ fuck it is ghosts do instead of that.” 

“We don’t…” Trailing off, Paul pinched the bridge of his nose and lifted a few inches up off the floor, the light above them flickering ever so slightly. “Ethan, we don’t do anything—”

“Not even  _ each other _ ?”

“ _ ETHAN!”  _

Ethan didn’t seem to hear him. Instead of stopping, instead, he wound his tail around his forearm and fiddled with the end. 

“Y’know, maybe  _ that’s _ why you both died— sexual frustration? Or the tension got thick enough that’cha couldn’t—”

Hannah coughed. 

In an instant, Ethan’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes widened. The contented twitching of his tail stopped short, and when his gaze shot to hers, there was a bit of sheepishness she couldn’t quite understand written across his face. 

**_Don’t worry about it._ **

_ Why not? _

**_You’ll understand when you’re older._ **

Instead, she took another bite of her sandwich as Ethan turned his eyes to Paul and bit back a grin—  _ literally _ bit it back, his fangs digging slightly into his lip. 

“...can we pick this conversation up later?” 

The light flickered again. 

Paul’s expression turned even more exasperated. 

“Absolutely  _ not _ .” 

Ethan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a dramatic little huff that made Paul stiffen. “You’re no fun.” 

“ _ Good. _ ” 

Where she sat, Hannah straightened just a touch. “ _ I  _ think you’re fun,” she interjected, making sure that her eyes met Paul’s— long enough for Paul to offer her a small smile in return. 

She liked it when he smiled. 

Paul had a friendly smile. A  _ polite _ smile. One that looked natural as anything on his face and made his eyes crinkle at the corners in a fashion that was just  _ approachable _ . Friendly. He just… radiated harmlessness in a way that made her own lips curve upward— and her smile broadened when Webby pushed into her mind once more. 

“...congratulations,” she added after a small pause. 

Ethan sat up straighter. “On?” 

Hannah shook her head. “Not  _ you _ ,” she corrected, an almost teasing lilt in her voice— a playful one, “ _ Paul _ . Webby says took a chance. Turned out good.” 

“A  _ chance? _ ” Ethan’s voice bordered on disbelieving. His eyebrows shot up, and when he leaned toward Paul, the light flickered  _ harshly _ , the soft, ambient buzzing turning to something angry— like a hornet trapped in a jar. 

Paul’s back straightened. The smile he’d been wearing fell off his face— replaced by a flustered look. “H-How do you know that?” 

Automatically, Hannah raised a hand and tapped at the side of her head. “Webby says.” 

“Webby says  _ what?” _

It took everything she had in her  _ not _ to mirror what Lex would’ve done and roll her eyes. “Already  _ told  _ you,” she murmured, furrowing her brow at the sight of Paul’s face seeming to darken, the light’s flickering turning a little more frantic, “Webby says you took a chance. A good one. With Em—”

“Don’t you have to get to school?” Paul interrupted, his voice bordering on shrill. 

Hannah’s head tilted ever so slightly. “Not—”

Ethan slid off the countertop. “Hannah, hey, lay off him,” he murmured, gaze flicking up to the lightbulb— tail back to thrashing, “don’t need another lightshow, yeah?” 

**_Listen to him._ **

_ But— _

**_Paul will talk when he’s ready._ **

Hannah blinked. 

_...not ready yet? _

**_No._ **

_ Oh.  _

Hannah’s eyes drifted to her half-eaten sandwich. Her shoulders slumped a little. 

_...didn’t want to pressure him. _

**_It’s okay._ **

Slowly glancing back upward at Paul where he hovered, Hannah offered an apologetic wince. “...good news?”

The flickering of the light stopped short. 

The worry on Paul’s face faded, turning into something almost hopeful. 

“...I think so,” he murmured, before straightening out— one hand moving upward to fiddle with his tie. “I hope so. I’d… like it to be.” 

Finishing her sandwich, Hannah offered a gentle smile. “Will be,” she murmured before standing and giving a small sigh, stepping around Ethan on her way to the kitchen. 

“...you got news?” 

She turned. Even though Ethan wasn’t speaking to her, when she moved, his gaze flicked over to her, his eyes meeting her own as she grabbed her backpack from the floor and offered a small smile. 

“No lightshow,” she scolded, teasingly. 

Paul laughed. 

Ethan’s wings drew upward, and for a moment, his expression darkened in a way that made Hannah’s heart rate pick up, but he was quick to shake his head and give a soft chuckle. “Yeah, alright,  _ fine _ ,” he grumbled, crossing his arms in a faux annoyed fashion. “ _ Don’t _ tell me, that’s fair— how come she gets to know?” 

“Webby,” Hannah responded, automatically, at the same time Paul gave a shrug. 

“She’s just more observant, I guess?” 

Ethan huffed out a laugh. Yeah, I gathered that,” he agreed— sounding genuine enough that Hannah grinned at him, hoisting her backpack into her arms. 

His gaze followed the motion. “Ah—  _ shit _ , ready to go?” 

Hannah shouldered her pack and nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Yes!” She chirped. “Ready to go!” 

She could feel energy building in her legs, feel it growing as she shifted from side to side in place, raising one hand to run her fingers up and down the frayed edge of her flannel, the familiar loose threads brushing against her skin enough to make her smile widen. “Now?” She asked, clear anticipation in her voice— in her  _ face _ and the way she peered up at him, hand not stopping its motions. 

A laugh bubbled from Ethan’s throat. “Well,  _ yeah _ . What, unless ya wanna be late, we gotta be out the door like,  _ now _ .” 

Hannah’s head bobbed in a nod. “Now,” she echoed, cheerily. “Not late— c’mon!” 

She didn’t wait for him to respond before moving toward the door and swinging it open— though she did turn her head and cheerfully call out over her shoulder. 

“Bye, Paul!” 

In the few moments she saw him, one of his hands raised in a small wave. 

“Bye, Hannah— and Ethan. Have a good walk!” 

Hannah stood a little taller. “Will,” she promised, and with that, she strode out onto the porch and down the rickety front steps, though she didn’t take off down the sidewalk until she heard the telltale sound of someone following after her.  _ Ethan. _

It was odd, how a noise that would’ve frightened her a few weeks ago was now a comfort. Being followed down the sidewalk by a demon should’ve been frightening, but when Hannah turned to look at him and saw the soft smile he was wearing…

“Good day,” she informed him, quietly. 

It certainly  _ looked _ like a good day. The sun was shining overhead, there was a soft breeze rustling through the trees, and although it was still the same dingy street she found herself on almost every other day, something about it felt almost… different. Lighter. 

Beside her, Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “Webby say that?”

Hannah shook her head. 

“No,” she responded, matter-of-factly “ _ I  _ say that. You’re here.” 

Offering a wide smile, she couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of the demon’s eyes— his pupils, specifically. 

_ Honest circles.  _

Her back straightened slightly as she redirected her attention to the street ahead, clutching the straps of her bag and continuing onward in the relative quiet until… something about it changed. 

The sound of Ethan’s footsteps, to be specific. The soft two-beat step shifted to something closer to four-four time, and when Hannah turned her head to see what Ethan was doing—

Ethan wasn’t there.

Trotting along beside her was an enormous black creature— covered in shaggy fur and standing at a height just about to her chest— one that she could  _ barely _ place as something that  _ could’ve _ been a dog— closer to a  _ wolf _ —

Its eyes turned to her. 

There was no mistaking that twinkling, steely blue. That soft head tilt. The fangs curling out from its jaws and the slight curl to its fur. 

...maybe Ethan  _ was _ there after all.

* * *

“...I feel like I’m about to get murdered.” 

That wasn’t the best sentence to let fall from her lips while she was standing just outside a stranger’s house, but in Lex’s humble defence, it wasn’t a lie. 

See, when Emma had described  _ Henry Hidgens _ as an eccentric recluse, she’d pictured a normal house that was just sequestered off from town, not an entire  _ fucking bunker _ , complete with what looked like a barbed wire fence— or maybe an electric one, judging by the sheer amount of cables running in through the top of the place— the  _ bunker.  _ That was a better word for it. 

It wasn’t just a  _ normal _ secluded place. It was  _ way _ far out from town— far away enough that they’d had to get up  _ early _ to get there on time (well,  _ Lex _ had gotten up early, seeing as Emma didn’t sleep) and walk for a good half hour into the witchwood, which was… fucking freaky, to say the least, seeing as the  _ sun _ hadn’t been all the way up yet. 

At her side, Emma gave a low scoff. “You’re  _ not _ —” She started to say, though Lex was quick to cut her off with a roll of her eyes. 

“Easy for  _ you  _ to say,” she grumbled, “you’re already dead— if the psycho kills me, I’ll have to haunt the house, and then it’ll just be Hannah with a bunch of glorified corpses, so…”

Emma snorted. “Oh,  _ relax _ . You brought his groceries.” Gesturing down at the cheap plastic bag Lex was holding, the ghost crossed her arms before jutting her chin out at something just outside of Lex’s peripheral vision. “Look, see that keypad over there?” 

_ Of course he has a fucking keypad.  _

It wasn’t much of a surprise. Pulling her attention down from the top of the massive, imposing gates closing off the winding driveway from the rest of what looked to be a fucking  _ estate _ , Lex glanced down at the edge of said gates. Sure enough a small, metal keypad stared back at her. 

“...yeah,” she responded. 

_ I thought those were only in old spy movies.  _

Evidently not. 

Evidently, they belonged to one Professor Hidgens— hell, this was probably the only one in Hatchetfield, and as Emma drifted closer to it, beckoning Lex to follow her, Lex reluctantly followed her lead, digging her hands deep into her pockets. 

“Right, okay, the combo should be—”

“We’re not gonna knock?” Lex interrupted, incredulous. “We’re just gonna… what, let ourselves in?”

Emma sighed. A heavy thing— one that left Lex  _ more _ than aware of the fact that there’d be words following it. “I  _ already _ explained.” Drifting closer, the ghost glanced up at the towering gates before returning her gaze to Lex. “If you don’t let yourself in, it means you’re not somebody he’s gonna want to see. Dude like,  _ hates _ solicitors, so…”

“Hence the giant fences?” 

“No, actually.” Shaking her head and giving a dry chuckle, Emma drifted a little further forward, raising one hand to adjust her beanie. Lex reluctantly followed her lead. 

“Then why—”

“ _ They,”  _ she stated, matter-of-factly, her voice flat, “are there because he was fairly certain the world was going to be taken over by singing, musical aliens.”

Lex blinked. 

Slowly, she frowned. “...that exactly?” She asked, unable to keep her lips from twitching despite how she bit them.

_ Fuck, is it rude to laugh? _

She really wanted to, but then again, from the way Emma had talked about this old guy, it might’ve been a shitty thing to do if he was like, basically her dad or whatever—

As if she was reading her mind, Emma broke into a laugh. “You can laugh, but get it out now— if he hears it, he’ll  _ probably _ give you some lecture on how he figured it all out  _ after  _ he was struck by lightning.”

The noise that escaped Lex’s throat in response to that was somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

“You’re making that up!” She sputtered as she followed Emma to the keypad, the ghost in question shaking her head almost gleefully. 

“Nope! That’s why he went into isolation, and honestly, I can’t blame the guy. He was just minding his own fucking business and then god decided ‘you know what, actually? Fuck you.’ and just about killed him. Apparently his heart stopped for a few beats. Dude was actually  _ dead _ for a couple of seconds, which is fucking crazy.” 

Lex’s skin tingled. 

A memory flickered to life in the back of her mind at the sentence—

_ “You’re very lucky to have her, still. We didn’t think she’d make it.” _

—one that she was quick to force back with a shudder. 

“Jesus.”

“Right?” Laughing and shaking her head, Emma wrung her hands together and exhaled heavily through her nose. “And from what I’ve heard, the dude just walked it off. Got up, still smoking, and headed home. That’s when the gates came up and all…” Trailing off, she waved a hand toward the hulking gates and barbed wire fence in a wide, sweeping gesture. “ _ That _ . He’s a total recluse.” 

For a few seconds, silence fell.

Just enough time for Lex to think that maybe, just maybe, coming to the house of the friendly neighborhood senile old man was a fucking awful idea. 

_ More _ than maybe, actually, seeing as the fucker almost  _ died _ once already— didn’t lightning strikes fuck up people’s brains or some shit like that? True, Lex had never heard of anyone spontaneously starting to believe that singing, musical aliens were coming to take over the planet, but then again, she’d also never had a fucking bolt of lightning hit her out of the blue—

“If he hasn’t changed it, the code should be that one song…” 

Lex snapped out of her thoughts. 

“You have to sing to open the—” She started to say, though she was stopped by Emma shushing her and humming something under her breath, tapping her fingers slightly on her hip. 

_...I better not have to sing.  _

The camera pointed in her direction  _ already _ had her on edge enough, and she sure wasn’t exactly about to break into song like she was one of those musical aliens that allegedly had him so bent out of shape. 

“...I thought he wouldn’t like musicals, what, seeing as he thinks the aliens are gonna use one to take over the world.”

Emma waved her off. “Nah, he was a musical buff before that, too. Working on his own show— though  _ don’t  _ fucking ask about it unless you want to leave with knowledge of his old friends and his boyfriend from when he was ‘quite the catch’, as he puts it.” Her voice dropped into one meant to sound like an older man— heavy and rasping, with just enough of a cartoonish lilt to make Lex break into a laugh.

“Fuck _ , please  _ tell me he doesn’t sound like that.”

“I mean, not  _ exactly _ ,” Emma huffed, rolling her shoulders, “but… yeah? Pretty much, anyway. Maybe a little more nasal, if we’re being completely honest— but whatever, dude’s a huge geek, so the password  _ should _ be…”

Listening as the ghost hummed some tune she didn’t recognize, Lex glanced through Emma’s back as her hand found the keypad, watching as she began to punch in the numbers. The display above the pad lit up with a soft whirr of acknowledgement, flickering with a gentle blue— the cracked, dusty screen showing a series of six blank spaces. 

“Five hundred, twenty five thousand…” Trailing off, she snapped her fingers a few times and groaned under her breath. “ _ Fuck _ , he’s right, you have to sing it if you want to remember—” 

Lex’s brow furrowed. “Sing—” She started to say, though her question died in her throat the second Emma’s voice filled the air. 

A voice that broke out into a fucking  _ song _ . 

_ “Five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes—”  _ Cutting herself off to give a wide grin, Emma pumped her fist and used her other hand to type in the last three digits before slamming her hand down on the enter button on the pad with a triumphant: “That’s the bitch!”

For a few moments, nothing happened. 

The gate stayed still. 

A wind blew through the witchwood, rattling the chain link fence and causing Lex to hunch her shoulders almost defensively against the sudden cold, her breath fogging up the air in a way that made her suddenly long for a cigarette. 

Her fingers twitched. 

_ Should’ve brought a jacket. _

“...maybe you were off key?” She finally spoke up, trying to force her nerves back with a joke, though when Emma went to answer—

Something whirred.

Then clicked. 

Then  _ crunched _ , a metallic, awful grating ringing through the air— the mechanism wound around the top of the gate clanking and screeching indignantly under the pressure before it seemed to even out into a soft, mechanical hum. 

The steel doors of the gate began to pull back. 

Slowly, at first, opening just enough to reveal a winding, stone pathway— the breeze rustling through the air causing specks of dirt and fallen leaves to almost dance above the cobbles— alongside what looked to be a huge, stone  _ bunker _ . 

“...is his whole house a fucking panic room?” She questioned, letting her eyes flick away from the thick metal cables forcing the doors open to the ghost hovering at her side. 

Emma wobbled a hand in the air in front of her in a so-so motion, slipping past Lex toward the opening gates. “Kinda,” she agreed, “I mean, wouldn’t yours be if you thought aliens were gonna show up on your doorstep?” 

Lex followed. 

The whole atmosphere of the entrance felt so  _ eerie _ , final, almost, like stepping past and into the space the gate kept sealed away would mark her in some way, leave her changed— for better, or for worse. 

Hopefully for better.

Judging by the fact that the property  _ was  _ sealed by a giant, imposing gate— one that still quietly purred like a crouching animal even as she stepped past it— probably fucking not. 

_ Of course not. _

_ He’s probably senile.  _

Fuck, seeing him had been a long shot— she’d  _ known _ right from the start that it was a long shot, and it was a long shot made completely in the dark. Sure, she’d rehearsed a couple of questions and all for him, pleasantries, then lies about how she’d been one of Ethan’s friends before he’d kicked it, and then probing questions that she was going to have to swing  _ just _ fucking right—

“...you got anything prepared?”

Lex blinked. 

Her eyes flicked to Emma where she hovered just in front of her, leading the way up the path— the path Lex was quick to realize they were about halfway down. 

_ Shit.  _

“Uh…” She started, coughing to clear her throat, “k-kind of? I mean, there’s not exactly a good way to say ‘hey, your dead nephew has materialized in my house and I’d like some questions about him answered’, is there?”

Emma sighed. “Not unless you want to get chased off, no.”

“Figures.” 

The closer they got to the house, the more small details Lex was able to pick up on— small details like the fact that the whole building seemed relatively window-free, save for a few that looked to be on the second floor— even those were high up and  _ barred _ with the curtains drawn— and the fact that there seemed to be what looked like fucking  _ floodlights _ mounted on the roof, one on each corner, one squarely above the door. 

_ Fuck. _

_ Okay. _

_ Think. _

_ What do I say? _

She couldn’t just say  _ nothing _ , and she needed something to start with…

“...can I tell him you’re like, my aunt or something?” she asked. “J-Just so he has that prior association sorta thing— he liked you enough to give you the passcode to his gate, s-so maybe…”

She trailed off at the sight of Emma shaking her head. 

“No, I’m fairly certain he must do background checks on all his students.”

Lex’s features drew into a wince. 

_ Of fucking course. _

“...isn’t that kinda freaky?” 

Emma’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I mean,  _ yeah _ , it’s  _ more _ than kinda creepy,” she agreed, coming to a stop just before the concrete front steps of the door, “but it’s just something he does. Doesn’t wanna let anybody sketchy in, I guess. Getting struck by lightning’ll do that to you.”

_ Getting struck by lightning would literally kill you. _

She bit her tongue against the comment. 

Maybe he was in really good shape or something.  _ Henry Hidgens _ wasn’t exactly a young sounding person’s name, but then again… maybe she’d judged him too harshly. Maybe he was just some eccentric twenty-something inventor with too much time on his hands and a love for horror movies that had spurred him into apocalypse planning as a hobby.

...because that made sense. 

_ Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. _

“Let’s hope it made him real gullible, then.”

Biting her lip, Lex squared her shoulders, hopped up the front steps, and gave the door three sharp knocks before she could talk herself out of it. After all, Emma had described him as a nice enough guy, and he was related to Ethan, which could get her some answers to questions she… hadn’t really thought of yet…

_ Shit. _

_ Okay.  _

_ Just simple things. _

She could do that. 

She just had to find a way to make him believe that her and Ethan had been friends, and that wouldn’t be  _ that _ hard, seeing as they were  _ already  _ friends…

_...right? _

Yeah.

They certainly didn’t  _ hate _ each other, and if she was being honest,  _ friends _ seemed to be a little bit of a small word for the way she felt about—

The door swung open. 

Lex gasped, instinctively drawing back in on herself in fright—  _ fuck, I didn’t even hear him coming _ — though she was quick to attempt collecting herself, a nervous, anxiety-ridden smile slipping onto her face.

The man staring her down didn’t return it. 

He certainly seemed anxiety ridden, what, judging by the way he was  _ crouching _ behind the door— having swung it open so it acted like a fucking metal-plated  _ shield—  _ keeping a good amount of distance between them, distance that Lex was  _ more _ than happy to keep between them when she realized what he was  _ holding _ . 

“ _ Holy shit!”  _

Not the best way to greet a senior citizen, but in her fucking defence, it wasn’t exactly cordial to greet a teenager with a  _ loaded shotgun. _

His blue eyes had a dangerous glint in them, not that she paid them much attention, seeing as she was staring down the long muzzle of the weapon, unable to keep herself from immediately shifting into a defensive stance like a fucking plastic bag of grocceries would defend her from a madman with a fucking  _ gun _ . 

“What the hell do you want?” He snapped in a voice that sounded straight out of a cartoon— one that would belong to some over-the-top villain who shouted shit like  _ I’ll get you next time! _ — and a wave of the weapon. “And how did you get past the gates?” 

“I… I— I…” 

“You what?” Hidgens prompted, stepping closer in a way that made the faint sunlight glimmer on the barrel of his weapon. “Safety’s off!” 

The gun shook in his hands, though not from fear— he was practically waving the fucking thing around like it was a flag, jamming its business end close enough to Lex to pry a sharp yelp from her throat. Instinctively, her hands flew upward, more phrases that didn’t exist tearing up from her in a haze.

“I— w-wait— w-wait—”

_ Fuck. _

She knew she had to say something—  _ anything _ — but all she could bring herself to do was stammer, stepping backward on the concrete front step. 

“Lex,” Emma prompted, snapping Lex out of her stupor by drifting closer to her side—  _ fuck’s sake, this’d be easier if he could see her _ , “you have to say  _ something— _ ”

“Say  _ what?” _ Lex hissed back without thinking. 

Hidgens stiffened. 

Instantly, he was crouching further behind the door again,  _ literally _ crouching in some sort of defensive position, mounting the gun against his knee. “Who’s with you?” 

Lex choked on her breath.

“ _ Shit, _ ” Emma whispered, “ _ fuck _ , okay...” Breaking into a sharp inhale, she made to say more— 

Hidgens spoke up before she could. 

“ _ Emma? _ ”

Lex’s gaze jerked back to him.

He wasn’t looking at Lex anymore. 

Instead, those crazed blue eyes flicked to the person beside her. 

The person with blood still on her legs from injuries long passed. 

The person with her hair tucked up in a beanie and her shoulders squared almost defensively. 

The one who was staring right back at him, her eyes wide, an expression of complete and utter shock written across her face— her jaw slack, her eyebrows raised, her hands lifting ever so slightly at her sides. 

Slowly, slowly enough that it almost looked like she was moving through molasses, Emma glided closer to Lex’s side, leaned over her shoulder, and choked out a sentence. 

“...you can see me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Lex's first words this chapter weren't too far off...

**Author's Note:**

> In conclusion: They're fucked
> 
> New update next week!
> 
> (Come bully me on tumblr: @nervously-spouting-poetry,, i draw comics n take art requests, and also crave interaction)


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